


Close your eyes and pretend that we are real

by drcalvin



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Backstory, Bondage, Breathplay, Consensual Violence, Dubious Consent, Germancest, M/M, Magic Realism, Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con References, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest, They talk a lot, Vibrator, What are nations made of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drcalvin/pseuds/drcalvin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prussia begins to fade away. Germany does not approve. But how do two nations survive under one roof, especially when they are both more prone to fighting than to sharing? One can't remember what he needs to do, the other is too proud to ask for help. When time runs out, they might both have to shatter before the pieces can be made to fit together again. </p>
<p>A very dark, kinky story about change and identity among nations, culminating in the realization that crushing someone can be an act of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Closed Eyes Open

**Author's Note:**

> MASSIVE thanks to aoi_aka, dynastic, dappledwings and fiercepotato for beta help!
> 
> (Please note that Germany/Italy is a very secondary pairing in this fic, this is mainly Germancest.  
> Further, the tag "Past Child Abuse" does not refer to any of the actual pairings in the fic.)

Prussia was unusually withdrawn during dinner, Germany thought. Again. 

Once he could overlook it, maybe twice. When several days passed and Prussia just glared at his chipped plate and drank too many beers in gloomy silence, not even Germany could keep pretending that everything was all right. He still didn't want to pry too much. Germany had long since realized that Prussia dealt best with his own problems alone and did not appreciate a worried little brother.

Instead, he fried pork chops and made a mountain of mashed potatoes. It was one of Prussia's favourites, the dish that had him eating with even less decorum and more enthusiasm than usual. Except today, apparantly, when he seemed more interested in pushing the meat around instead of tasting it. 

An old worry nagged at him, though he struggled to brush it away. It had proven unfounded every time so far after all. 

Germany had been unnerved when, despite his best efforts, he could not get Prussia to regain all the weight he'd lost during their split. What his memories told him, of a brother almost as heavy and tall as himself, solid and stocky, had changed in their years apart. Now, Prussia was noticeably slighter than himself, or at least Germany noticed; he couldn't claim that he'd heard other nations remark on it.

Despite his worry, and even after a dozen books on the topic of eating disorders, he had never seen Prussia show any symptoms that he suffered from something. 

This was, Germany had finally come to understand, how his brother was nowadays. Just a bit _less_ than the images in his memory. His eyes were no longer the colour of fresh blood, but instead clear as water running water. His jeering was often too bitter and the laughter, while loud as always, lacked the deep confidence Germany remembered from his youth.

"How's your day been, then?" Germany asked once he had finished his own meal. They tended to eat in silence; both brothers too busy shoving potatoes into their mouths to talk much.

Prussia traced the green-chequered pattern of the tablecloth, poking at a loose thread as if itwere the most fascinating thing he'd seen lately. "Same old, same old. Hungary called. And I took the little one to the vet for her check-up." 

He was referring to their dear Blackie. The dog's years were finally catching up with her, slowly but surely.

"Is she alright?" 

When Prussia nodded, his hands could relax around the cutlery again. Every time Germany had to say farewell to a pet, he would swear that this was the last time. But then, he'd see another pair of dark eyes that needed someone; needed him. He'd remember how lonely the house had felt lately and...

There was probably a reason that he’s had seven dogs for a while after the war besides the obvious one; nobody else had time to care for the four strays. 

"Don't worry, West." Prussia reached over the table to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder. "She'll stay with you a while yet." 

A shadow seemed to move over Prussia's face then, but he calmly gathered his plate and put it in the sink, even remembering to scrape off the leftovers and rinse it. Germany would have been able to enjoy this little show of responsibility a great deal more if not for the nagging suspicion that it was only an effect of whatever melancholy had attached itself to Prussia. 

He wondered if he should prod him a little more for information, but Germany dreaded having personal discussions with Prussia. They tended to lead into the uncomfortable land of the past or, even worse, the future. 

So he remained silent. Prussia dried his hands and left. For a while after, Germany just sat there, watching the arms of the cuckoo clock move and playing with his old necklace. Remembering.

* * *

Germany didn't know what woke him a few nights later. Not the dogs, for they were all dreaming happy canine dreams. Not Veneziano's warm body sliding into bed with him. Although he was barely disturbed by that at all these days. His body got used to the intrusion years ago and now? He almost welcomed it.

He lay awake for a moment, but couldn't hear any suspicious noises even when he strained his ears. Not that any regular thief could break into Germany's house. And what nation would dare to secretly invade him?

But there was still that sense of something off, a scent of wrongness in the night air. It almost reminded him of the Wall. 

God, how he hated that thing, a big wall of raw concrete straight through his home, it cut off half his garden and stole both his office and the second guestroom. And his...

The dogs made inquiring sounds when he rose, but he hushed them easily enough. They subsided and did not try to follow when he snuck down the hall. 

Why was he thinking of that damned Wall again? It had been gone for several years already. Yet now, when the memory was disturbed it was most difficult to lay it to rest again, feeling like a raw thing in his mind which hadn't scabbed over with enough years yet. 

The flickering light of the TV surprised him, because he was certain he had turned it off before he went to bed. Then he spotted Prussia's foot sticking out from the couch and the confusion turned to mild annoyance. Now his brother would be tired and grumpy all day tomorrow, Germany knew, and the chances that he would remember to do the laundry had plummeted to nothing.

It was impossible to see whether the other was awake or not, but Germany did not think he would be very attentive either way. He snuck closer; letting his feet slide slowly over the floor, avoiding the places where the old wood would creak.

Utterly silent, he looked down at the couch, finding Prussia clutching his ratty old pillow, the one with baby ducks on it that he refused to get rid of. His face was turned towards the TV, but seemed mostly asleep, his eyelids drooping heavily. Germany fought back the urge to gather a blanket and tuck him in.

"Get to bed, you!" he ordered instead, poking Prussia in the shoulder. The other nation twitched awake and looked up at him, wild confusion written on his features.

Were those...? No, it was impossible that Germany had seen tears. The strange light was merely playing tricks on him.

"West," Prussia muttered, and rubbed his eyes. "Why the hell are you up?"

"Needed a drink of water," he fibbed. "Saw the light on."

"Oh. Just, just go back to sleep." His arms tightened around the pillow. "I'll just finish this," he gestured at the machine. "Er, amazing golf show."

A tired sigh escaped Germany. "You should sleep properly in your bed."

Prussia's laugh was unpleasant and slowly, the sounds twisted into something much wetter. When his face scrunched up and his hands clawed at the soft pillow, Germany could no longer deny that he was actually sobbing.

"Brother, what is the matter?" he asked, fully awake now and coming round to kneel in front of the couch. 

"I don't..." Prussia shook his head and gritted his teeth, fighting down the sobs, though he appeared unable to stop the shaking. "Don't have one."

"What?"

He'd long suspected that his brother was - No, not broken. 

Germany's mind shied away from that word. But there had been something wrong with him for years. Something that went deeper than his old megalomania or his undiminished longing for Friedrich. Like the disturbing flush on his face after battle and the way his touches lingered a little too long when they celebrated a victory, those things were just Prussia. Annoying as he might be, all these little traits defined him and Germany had long ago come to terms with them.

The hollow laughter, those too-blue eyes that seemed to be some cruel twist of Germany's own, the ever-increasing drinking, and his refusal to get involved in the handling of the country. It had been there, all of it, since they had reunited, but never had he seen him break down like this before. It scared Germany; more than he cared to admit. 

"Please, Brother," he tried. "What's the matter?"

"No bed. No bed _room_ any more," Prussia said, then bit his lip as if to try and hold all further words back.

"How can you not have a bedroom?" Germany asked, feeling more than a little stupid. He laid a hand on Prussia's shoulder, clumsily offering his support.

Prussia fumbled for the lamp on the coffee table and a warm golden light flooded them both. Once Germany's eyes stopped stinging, he looked back at the man in front of him. He saw how tired Prussia looked, deep rings beneath his eyes. How he sagged against their worn old couch as if unable to properly support himself.

"What's the matter?" he asked again, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those water-clear eyes. "What did you mean, you don't have a-"

Prussia shook his head and then, in one quick motion, smoothed his hair back. The effect went beyond surprising; if he was honest with himself, it gave Germany the fright of his life. 

Of course, his cheeks were still tear-stained and Germany could not recall ever wearing a smile like the one now spreading over Prussia's face. It contained not a lick of joy in it, looked almost like a grimace, as if his face was about to crack in two under the strain. But other than that it was like looking into a discoloured mirror.

Germany's hand reached for Prussia out of its own volition, touched almost fearfully. In his mind, the thoughts were rattling past too quickly to grasp, making checklists and comparing to past knowledge.  
His brother's cheekbones, surely, they had been somehow different before? He'd always possessed such lively features, unlike Germany who'd always heard that he inherited his grandfather's stoicism. Not even the rare times Prussia looked serious had the two of them been this alike? Had they?

The too familiar stranger with his face just kept staring at him, silently accusing.

"You're becoming..." Germany could barely recognize his own voice, but Prussia nodded. 

"You."

He had to move those hands Germany realized, had to see _Prussia_ again. Bot this mockery of a twin brother whom he'd never possessed. There was no resistance when Germany mussed up his hair again. 

He tried to think logically, because if he didn't, he may just run screaming from the house. That wasn't the German way to handle problems, tempting as the idea was right now. 

The problem was identified, that was progress. Yes, progress. So what could they do about it? 

Nothing.

No, he sternly told himself. That is _not_ a helpful attitude. Maybe there were books to investigate? He searched his mind for anything remotely similar that could happen to humans; co-dependency problems? Something; he'd take a look first time tomorrow.

"Maybe you should move out?" he suggested after another few moments of vigorous mental debate. 

"Are you fucking stupid?" Prussia's voice rose in anger at the last words, and he knew he had said the entirely wrong thing, as per usual.

But once Germany had decided on a course, he was not quick to abandon it. He continued, voice brimming with false confidence. "Maybe proximity makes it worse? And, you used to have that lovely apartment in Berlin."

"That apartment," Prussia muttered, "became my rooms, remember?"

"Oh, right."

It had been an early morning back in 1990, when Germany had come into the kitchen, in search of his first cup of coffee for the day. He had found Prussia instead. 

To be more specific, he had missed seeing Prussia standing on the counter, hunting a missing stash of cookies. When he opened the cupboard, he accidentally smacked his leg so that Prussia stumbled and fell on top of him. Germany found no coffee that time, but received an armful of angry brother instead. It nearly gave him a heart attack and then, just to top it off, he had to listen to Prussia's whining about the cookies had been lost during the little surprise merger. 

The Berlin Wall had been torn down the year before, but it was only when they finally signed the documents that Prussia's apartment attached itself to Germany's house. As the years went on, the house settled properly around the new rooms. Concrete walls disappeared behind wood panelling andsoggy grey carpet rolled back and revealed fine hardwood floors. Step by step, Germany's meticulously ordered possessions found themselves accompanied by Prussia's debris. 

It had all been so smooth, that once the roof stopped looking like an Escher-painting, Germany almost forgot that his home hadn't always been this shape. Just as his history had grown, taken in Prussia's past, so his house had become the home of them both in a series of steps where each was too small to notice. Not to say that there hadn't been conflicts – the great Wallpaper War of '93 one of the more memorable ones. Germany had been forced to make a stand there and had refused both the white wallpaper with gothic crosses and the green one with frolicking baby animals. But, all in all, they had managed without too much strain.

"What about your library?" 

If one room could be affected, then who knew what was happening in the rest of the house? Prussia was so very fond of all his old diaries and the endless folders of letters, that Germany did not even want to contemplate what their loss would mean to him.

"Still there. For now."

Finally the realization that there was actually something he could do, entered Germany's head and he almost hit himself at how simple a solution it was. Considering how much he had hung out with Italy, this shouldn't feel quite so awkward.

When Germany's arms slipped around Prussia in a stiff hug, he first felt him go tense. But then he heard another choked sob and his head fell limply against Germany's shoulder.  
It was, oh, it was impossible to describe how odd it felt to hug his brother like this; as another person, as someone he could help.

It seemed he was not the only one marvelling over the awkwardness of the moment. When Prussia spoke anew his voice was wry even through the thickness. "We've never really... been good at that comfort thing, huh?" 

His breath was warm against Germany's collarbone and he could feel wetness slipping down his arm and shoulder. He only hummed in agreement, feeling uncomfortable and wondering what to do about this stiffness. 

He tried to recall earlier situations where they had touched. Winced when he realized how often those involved a drink, or twenty. 

They'd hug after victory (increasingly often, this meant football) with Prussia beating his shoulder almost painfully hard, while Germany allowed himself a small smile in acknowledgement of a job well done. Oh, and they'd hugged at the fall of the Wall! He remembered that moment in stark clarity. They had been smiling and crying at once, halfway drunk on joy. 

And Germany didn't know how many times he'd dragged Prussia home from the pub! It was always slow going, for he tended to be quite under the influence himself, after an evening with Prussia. Then add his brother, hanging off his shoulder, a giant boneless lump around his neck. One that made inappropriate remarks too, calling out to most everyone they passed, and who cackled in his face with stinking breath even after Germany threatened to hit him.

When they bathed the dogs, especially feisty old Berlitz, there had been no time to think of propriety either. Not when there was soapy water everywhere and a big dog who wanted nothing more than freedom. He remembered how they always had to strip to their underwear. Then Prussia would hold the dog and laugh like a madman (at least until he swallowed some water, after which he would sputter and spit) while Germany tried to shampoo the unruly beast. Those memories, the little warm flickers of familiarity that lay spread between them during the years, helped Germany relax.

"At least," he said, hoping to spread some of his newfound lightness to the other man. "I don't just pour iodine on you and tell you to take it like a Teuton."

"I never! Or, well... once doesn't count!"

They stayed silent for a while. Germany tried to feel how the house had shifted around them, trying to feel if the change echoed in their bodies too. He understood now why it had all felt so odd. When his brother's heart was closed to him, he remembered the shadow of the Wall in his mind years after it stood physically on their land. Now the mental wall was falling away again, once Prussia no longer desperately hid his pain.

"Your things are still here," he said after a while, very gently petting the white hair. Thank God it hadn’t turned blond yet. He really would scream if he ever saw his own hair colour, his own body, walking through his home.

"Really?" Prussia looked up. "I couldn't find the fucking room! I've looked all over for two days!"

"I can't, either," Germany admitted. "But I think I can feel the presence of your birds somewhere, or rather, their birdcage. It's an antique, isn't it?" And thus, like most of their things it was weighed down with memories and history; another part of what made them themselves.

"Oh thank God!" His words left him in an explosive breath. "I thought they'd been smushed out of existence." 

Since Germany's knees were starting to hurt a little and Prussia seemed to cheer up at hearing that his beloved pets were safe, he decided he could sit up on the couch instead. He found the remote control and silenced the TV, not certain what they would do, but convinced that it would in no way involve golf. 

"I used to listen to them at night," Prussia said after a long silence, his voice sounding muffled in the sleeping house.

"All the people dreaming, fighting, and... and just being my kingdom." He pushed his shirt to the side, giving Germany a glimpse of the mess of thick scars covering the left side of his chest, before his hand covered the area.  
"Couldn't hear most of them, only once I was free and whole. But when I could, I listened."

"I don't really do that. Feels too much like peeking." Intimate and thus uncomfortable, in much the same way that it was to see Prussia here in the cold half-light of the television. Too close for comfort. Germany preferred the safe distance of daylight and propriety.

"No, it's not," protested Prussia. "They're in you, inside your house and all, how can that be peeking?"

"Do I want to know how you treat people who come visiting?" Germany countered. 

That, unfortunately, had been the wrong thing to say. Prussia's hand clawed at his flesh and he shook his head. "Nobody comes to visit _me_ any longer."

"That isn't true," he protested, but Prussia just waved him off. 

"Shut up a little, West. I wish I could still hear them all clearly, but..." That broken smile again and his eyes closed. "It seems as if they're slipping away from me. Again."

For once he did not allow any thoughts of what he ought to do or what was proper confuse him. Instead, he pulled his brother close, until he rested against his own heart. As he put his palm against the scarred area of Prussia's chest, he felt a heartbeat there. Too weak to be right and healthy. He suspected then that they were running out of time even faster than the transformations implied and wondered how long Prussia had known. Wondered why he hadn't spoken, but knowing that it was not in his brother to beg for help, even on the brink of destruction.

"Listen," he whispered. "Listen to _our_ people. They won't forget you. Somehow we'll make sure of that."

They stayed there throughout the night and if Prussia did not seem much improved when the sun rose, he at least was no longer openly crying. 

Once the birds were found, he seemed to almost bounce back to his usual self. They, like all the other junk his brother had gathered, had deposited themselves in Germany's workshop. Prussia immediately insisted on a second veterinary visit to make sure they hadn't ingested anything harmful. Meanwhile, Germany had the pleasure of trying to separate his tools from Prussia's endless amount of trophies and souvenirs. 

He began on the thankless task, letting it consume his uppermost thoughts while trying to remember the odd mood of the night before. Maybe, somehow, he would figure out what to do about its implied dangers.

* * *

Germany's quest to find information on how to stop a former nation from fading away, hopefully without them having to start a civil war, had not been met with much success. His one furtive try to question Prussia on the topic of all the brothers and sisters the history books indicated that he should have, had been answered with a bland grin and a blatant change of topic.

That was, all in all, not an unexpected development. Prussia had refused that topic during his entire life, and it was still as vexing as when he'd been a teenager and asked for the first time.

Changing his plans accordingly, Germany decided to question the other nations. Unfortunately, it turned out that one side effect of Prussia's condition was that he was becoming increasingly good at following Germany's thoughts. He figured out what was planned before Germany had the chance to actually ask anyone and immediately forbade him from mentioning the situation to anyone. 

After much cajoling, they agreed that Italy was an exception if Germany felt that he just had to tell him. All right, Prussia relented after even more nagging, China too. Germany's rationale for that was simple. As the oldest nation, he was most likely to have encountered this situation before and if they had to ask anyone, why not go straight to the top?

Austria, however, was absolutely out of the question, as was England and all the other bastards. _Especially_ Russia.

His plans to only hint at things to Italy failed miserably, since the other nation refused to discuss the topic until Germany had spilled the whole story. After which he had to spend the better part of the hour comforting him, while Italy mourned his grandfather and fretted endlessly for his own brother. Worst of all, it turned out he had been too young at the time Rome left to really remember what had happened.

"But Germany," he had finally said, as Germany was preparing to leave. "I don't think it matters what happened to Grandpa. He was too great and fell too far to recover. But Prussia has already fallen and survived!" 

"Then how do you explain what is happening?" he asked. "It must be because West and East Germany are united under my name."

"Then shouldn't it have happened at once?" 

He dismissed that, as he had when Prussia had suggested the same thing. "It's just taken a while for things to catch up."

If he stretched the meaning of the words just a tiny little bit, Prussia had already given him permission to talk to Italy Romano. Not, it turned out, that the sour southerner had much useful information either. The only thing Germany learned was that Rome hadn't begun fading away at his end. Neither had he transformed into someone else. Instead, he had aged like a regular human, the years piling up until he was a scarred old man.

"But in the end," Romano said, glaring at Germany with unusually vicious hatred in his eyes, " _someone_ murdered him. I know they did."

"Aha?" When Romano proved unwilling to elaborate, he thanked him and left, puzzling over the mysterious ways of Italian minds. 

China at first proved as unhelpful as Romano.

"But is it not a good thing that he goes away? Germany is always complaining how messy his brother is."

"Yes, but I _want_ to be annoyed by Prussia. I'm used to it."

"Feh, you are strange in the West," China sighed.  
"I have my provinces, of course. Memories flock in cities old as mine, yes. But I would never tolerate another nation living within my borders."  
His eyes narrowed and the girlishly sweet voice took on a slightly sinister tone. "That is why I will enter my fifth millennia soon while Prussia is forgetting himself."

Ignoring exactly what China meant about 'not tolerating' another nation, Germany focused on the more relevant part of what he had said. "Forgetting himself?"

China nodded. "What makes him Prussia today? Nothing but his own memory." 

And his inflated ego, Germany thought. He was willing to bet next year’s GDP on the fact, though he didn't really feel like sharing the notion with China.

"So, like these," China lifted his teacup and showed Germany the swirling leaves inside. "He floats, outside time. Without land, nothing can anchor him."

"But he was the GDR! He's still East Germany!"

"Is he?" China raised an elegant eyebrow. "Then, you ask for help for the wrong brother."

"But he is still– Ahrg!" The implications were worrying. Germany couldn't imagine his brother changing his name to East Germany, no matter what happened. Still, this was the first hint he'd found that Prussia's end wasn't inevitable.

"Maybe, maybe," China said and finished his tea. "I must work now, Germany. But listen to my advice, young one. Let go of your brother in peace and live on to honour his memory. That is the right way of things."

Mutely, Germany shook his head while China turned his eyes to the heavens as if imploring them to share their wisdom with this hopeless child. 

Even using the road on the border of the real world and the world of humanity's imagination, it was a long journey home and it took him many hours to cross the great mountains and deserts of Asia. Germany didn't mind, he had plenty of things to consider and the long road was good for meditating on the problem of Prussia. 

Here, in the 'between', Germany had once been born to a land far away. Here, nations could travel freely, battle each other with minimal interference from bosses or civilians. But they still lived out most of their lives in the physical world. It was only in the real world they could find names and identities, where they could grow strong and whole. It was where their homes were built.

If Germany were to 'let go' of Prussia, as China suggested, would that mean that his brother would lose the anchor to reality? Perhaps it was really only Germany who kept him alive these days, although he imagined Prussia might as soon decapitate himself if he ever thought that was true. If things continued as they had, would he die or just... leave? Or, Germany shuddered, would he become another Germany somehow? He saw an unnerving mirror of himself, until East and West became completely like one, and he could not imagine a worse end for someone like Prussia.

Actually, all outcomes were painful in different ways, and when his tired steps led him over Turkey’s lawn and into Europe, he decided to postpone any further investigation into the matter until tomorrow. 

Despite the curiosity he must have felt, Prussia didn't ask any questions. Instead he heated up leftover pizza from Italy's last visit and they began eating silently. Only when Germany absentmindedly threw some sauerkraut on his pizza and proceeded to eat the cabbage-covered slice, did Prussia poke him on the nose with his fork.

"Whm?" Germany blinked at his brother, mouth full of pizza and sauerkraut. 

"You used to claim I was disgusting when I did that," Prussia said in a low tone. 

The unfamiliar taste combination finally registered and Germany's stomach clenched in worry. He dropped his food, not realizing that he splattered sauce everywhere. "And you used... used to say....

"Food shouldn't be wasted," Prussia finished for him. He took Germany's slice and tasted it, some amount of tension leaving him. "Still like it."

"Ah, well, things like that happen, don't they?" Germany tried for a light tone. "I guess my tastes just changed."

Prussia nodded in complete agreement and hurried to polish off the last of Germany's piece. "Happens all the time. Heh or we'd still be eating turnips all the time instead of potatoes."

"Exactly!" They laughed in slightly giddy relief, clinking their beer glasses together. When Germany tried to steal a piece of pizza in retaliation, Prussia threatened to stab him in the hand and all was normal again. 

Except that Germany couldn't forget that horrible moment when he hadn't been certain which one of them used to hoard food and mix up leftovers in disgusting combinations. Or had they both done that for a while? He couldn't bloody well remember.

Still, he tried to reassure himself, that was one little disaster averted. Try to see the positive side of things. 

After dinner, they decided to take the dogs out for a proper long walk before turning in for the night. By unspoken agreement, Germany hadn't actually invited Prussia to his room. In return, Prussia didn't throw a tantrum, not even when he saw Germany take out another pair of sleeping boxers and put them by the bed. 

Germany was just untying his shoes when the phone rang. 

"Who could be calling now?" he said, frowning when Prussia shrugged and made no move to take the phone. 

Italy rarely called, unless he was in trouble somewhere, though he did have a tendency to turn up when you least expected him. Austria would never disturb anyone this late and though France sometimes _did_ , he usually waited until even later, when he'd have time to get good and drunk.

"Germany here! Whom am I speaking to?"

"My condolences."

"Hello? Anyone there?"

"Yo, Germany! We heard the news man, real downer!"

"America?" He raised an eyebrow at Prussia, who shook his head and looked as confused as Germany felt. 

"Yeah! My brothers are here too and when we heard, Canada thought we'd better call in and shit and– Hey, waittaminute, England! You'll get your– Gimme that!"

There were sounds of a scuffle for a moment. Germany could almost have sworn he heard someone whisper that he hoped Prussia had gone in peace, which made no sense whatsoever, before England's unmistakable voice yelled in his ear. 

"Germany! Izz't true?" The familiar voice was speaking at a far too loud volume, making it clear that he was dealing with a thouroughly sloshed island. Carefully, Germany moved the receiver further from his ear and winced. Drunk Brits, just what he didn't need on top of everything else... 

"Tha asshole's r'lly dead?" England continued in a barely understandable slur. 

"What? Who?"

"Yer bloody brother!"

Germany froze, not daring to look back at Prussia who must have overheard. 

"What the _hell_ is going on!" Prussia snarled, an angry flush covering his face as he stomped closer and tried to grab the phone. "Give that here, West!" 

Mutely, he handed it over.

"What the fuck are you on, you idiots!" Prussia screamed into the phone. "Prussia's right here and I'm not going anywhere!"

"A ghost! Ahhh!!" 

"America!"

"Save me, England!"

"Getoffa me you– Yeargh!"

There was a loud crash and then, abruptly, silence. Prussia kept glaring at the receiver while Germany frantically tried to come up with an excuse. Just as he was about to suggest that they end the call, Prussia lifted the receiver close to his ear and nodded tersely at something Germany couldn't catch.

"We'd heard you had passed away," Canada's voice floated through the phone. "I'm glad it isn't true!"

Prussia started. "Passed away?" 

If Germany hadn't already learned to recognize the bared teeth and hoarse tone as signs of danger, the clenched fists were very clear indicators.

"Who told you that?" he breathed, voice almost as soft as Canada's. "Who said I was dead?"

Oh dear, Germany thought as he began to puzzle things together. He waved for Prussia's attention in a vain attempt to end the call before they re-enacted the little battle they had just heard through the phone. "Brother, really, what does it matter..." He trailed off as a bruise-purple glare pinned him accusingly. 

Spain, Prussia mouthed to him while Canada continued to speak, you told _Spain_ about this? Germany could only shake his head in honest denial, still staring at Prussia's anger and marvelling at the change it had wrought in him. 

"No prob," Prussia said into the phone- "Just clear things up with the idiot duo too, would'ya? Yeah. Thanks, man." He hung up and stuck his hands into his pockets, glaring furiously at Germany.

"Apparently America heard from Spain, who heard from that little ass Italy Romano, that I was no longer among the nations. And I bet that he heard it from you, _you idiot_!"

Prussia's brows were furrowed in anger above a sharp nose, his teeth clenched in an attempt to control his temper and his presence as dangerous as on any battlefield. Fury, Germany began to realize, brought his brother back to himself like nothing else.

"I only thought... Rome, you know," he tried. "He is the one who remembers him the best."

His brother hissed angrily, glaring at him as if he'd betrayed him. "You know he hates us both!"

The punch that followed those words wasn't really a surprise, but even so, Germany's head was thrown back rather painfully.Instead of following up with another attempt, however, Prussia seemed to sag in place. 

"I... I'm not dying," he said, voice containing only the smallest amount of trepidation. "I'm not!"

Germany grasped his shoulder, tried to find the words to make everything right again and failed miserably. "I know you're not," he finally managed. "Look, you eve-"

The empty blue eyes that met his when Prussia lifted his head were as cold as ice and as comforting to behold. "No," he sighed, even his voice just a whisper of what it had been. You don't. You have no idea."

They gathered the dogs in silence and walked out into the cool night, both wrapped up in their own dark thoughts.

* * *

Germany breathed in the reassuring scent of another man lying in his arms and hugged Italy a little tighter. If someone had been watching him, they would have seen an interesting procession of expressions flit over his face as he slowly woke up. First, relaxed sleep turned into slight puzzlement. Then his mouth turned downwards and Germany tightened his grip again, sliding his hand over the arm lying flung out. A small tic showed around his eye.

"Wha'st?" a too hoarse voice muttered and Germany's eyes flew open in panic. With a curse, he flailed and pushed Prussia from the bed. 

"Ouch! What the fucking crap?"

"Br– Brother, why were you in my bed?" Germany sputtered, trying to remember how much they had drunk last night.

Prussia glared at him over his shoulder, massaging the bridge of his nose. "How hard did I hit you, again?" he mumbled. Then he turned fully around, and let Germany see him properly. 

Again, a sense of vertigo overcame Germany when he saw his brother. Here, in the sunlight, without his customary sloppy clothing and making a gesture that Germany knew perfectly well he used himself, sometimes several times a day. It was like looking into a slightly distorted mirror. The body had a few scars too many, his musculature was slightly too thin, though Prussia looked heavier than he'd ever seen him these last the last sixteen years. And the pale mop of hair, that was still entirely Prussia's. But otherwise? In the lines of his face and the structure of his bones and a myriad further little details he couldn't pinpoint but knew he recognized...

"Oh God," Germany said, stark terror flooding him at the sight."My God, Prussia, _look at you_." 

"I'd rather not." He shook his head, seeming very tired. "It's happening faster and faster, isn't it?"

Germany nodded and dragged his suddenly lethargic brother off the floor, simply holding on to him as if he could stem the changes with his grip. They sat silently on the edge of the bed for a while until Prussia snapped that he'd better stop squeezing him before he broke something.

"We're kinda screwed, aren't we?" 

He grinned at Germany and there was something there that made his heart ache sharply. Perhaps the memory of gallows humour when they'd retreated off a failing front; whatever it was, it stung deep inside of him. 

"Hey, if I turn into you first, do you think you will gain weight when I disappear or-"

"Don't! Please."

There was a weary sigh, before the older nation shook his head and stood up. "We have mutts to feed. Come on, West."

* * *

The days slipped between his fingers. Germany tried to hold on to them but it was as if the world around him had turned to water. Prussia faded from day to day, only sometimes regaining his old spark, and Germany felt himself flounder while he helplessly witnessed the process.

When Austria and Hungary paid them a visit to discuss the rumours making their way all over the world, the brothers had a flaming row. Finally, Germany threatened to tie Prussia down if he refused to meet his oldest remaining friends, all the while trying to hold back the elation he felt at seeing Prussia so upset. His eyes had become deep red again and his cocky smile and proud swagger remained for hours after their guests had left.

His brother had become a familiar and comforting presence in bed. The almost nightly changes where uncomfortable, but he could handle them. Until the morning when they woke to find Prussia's hair a murky blond only about a shade grayer than his own. He just managed to control his panic until Prussia reached, apparantly on a reflex, for the jar of pomade on the dressing table.

It ended with a broken window and Germany sitting on the floor, staring at the sticky shards that was all that remained of his favorite pomade. He knew with a sick certainity that he would never, ever be able to use that brand again. 

Prussia was blessedly gone for the day. Next morning, France's chauffer dropped his hungover brother off in front of the house and that was when Germany made a decision. Prussia would have to tell him, before there wasn't anyone around who remembered the truth.

"What happened to the others? You must know why they disappeared!" he asked the same night.

There was no reply from Prussia. He sat on the unmade bed in his boxers, and it nagged at Germany that he ought to be more bothered by how none of them had made the bed in three days. Somehow, it didn't seem as important any longer. Just as separating plastic from paper or being on time to work had become a lesser priority, though the confused looks he received when he arrived two minutes late still filled him with incredible guilt.

"Prussia! You have to tell me!"

No answer. Prussia only sat there and traced his old scars one by one.

At least they were still there; Germany dreaded the day the scars would begin to fade. Houses, habits, languages... Such things were much more fluid for them than for their individual citizens. But, young as he was, he did have an instinctual knowledge for thise things that ought not change, even on one of them. When the borders truly transformed, when changes went deeper than a map redrawn at the whim of the latest victor, it shook a nation to the core and it left a mark on their bodies, to match the wounds left in their souls.

When a new nation rose in old land, when familiar valleys, rivers, cities changed... When battlefields that used to be part of one’s heartlands were taken away, stripped of meaning and given new names; then, even their past could change. They were only nations, after all, ideas come to life. And without a past, without dreams for the future, everything they were could simply unravel. Germany has seen it happen, had _caused_ it in Prussia once before. 

Although then, he hadn't understood what was going on, had been to young to realize the final consequence. Now, though, he could see it with painful clarity. If this finished, if he took even those old pains and scars, willingly or not, what would be left? Of East, of Prussia, of his older brother?

England, who could see things Germany has never glimpsed, had brothers lost to history, as well as those still hanging on. Since the entire world knew of their predicament anyway, Germany had approached him for information a while ago. Bribed with copious amounts of alcohol, England had been happy to speak, but his opinion had been too similar to China's.

They have to let go of the past, England insisted, because the Prussian state was long gone. If he wanted to remain as himself, instead of just a part of Germany's past, he needed to change. Immediately. 

That suggestion had gone over about as well as Germany feared, when he'd presented it to a tired and angry nation who had just been out drowning his sorrows and he had made the mistake of backing down again. Had backed down, had tried to wait Prussia out and the only result was that he had lost more precious time.

"Nobody else knows our past as you do," Germany tried a different approach, refusing to give up this time. "I've tried, you know! I've talked to everyone I could think of!"

Prussia shrugged, trying to look so perfectly innocent that Germany wondered if he really was hiding a murder or two. "There's nothing to tell," he said. "I haven't the faintest idea what happened to old Germania. Never even met Rome."

"I'm not talking about them. I'm asking about what happened to all my other siblings? All _our_ other siblings?"

It appeared that the scab on his knee was of great interest to Prussia, because he sure picked at it with near obsessive focus. 

"If you're dead, who'll tell me?" Germany finally said, voicing the truth that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. "Isn't it my right to know?"

"Oh, lay off. I know Italy told you about how the Holy Roman Empire faded away after the wars broke him."

"Not him. I mean the rest." 

Prussia swore to himself when the scab broke off and he started to bleed slightly. In a move that made Germany wince and supress a desire to run out for soap and disinfectant, he wiped off his fingers on the sheets. No distractions, he reminded himself, just ignore everything except the question.

"I talked to Lichtenstein about it too," he said.

At least that garnered a reaction, Prussia sneering at her name. He had always had some kind of dislike for the two of them interacting, one which he refused to explain to Germany. It wasn't even as if he seemed to mind her much on her own. 

"She confirmed that we used to be a large family," Germany continued. He had always known that deep inside, but it had been quite uncomfortable when she began recounting all his lost relatives. "She said, that they all began to disappear during the Thirty Years’ War. Now, she thought that was mostly due to starvation and bad fortunes in the war. She said that it wasn't until later, when Bismarck– "

"Stop!" Prussia raised his hand, ordering silence, and Germany felt the words dry out. 

He had almost completely buried his curiousity on this topic years ago. It hadn't seemed very important and bringing it up always turned Prussia turned taciturn and moody for days. Now, the desire to know and understand bubbled up inside of him again, and he had a hard time hiding his eagerness. 

"What happened, Brother?"

Did you kill them? The question Germany had never dared to ask. The accusation he had heard in the voices of the Allies when they finalized Prussia's dissolution, an accusation he tried to keep from his words now. 

Prussia had always, always been there for him and he wanted to pay back that trust. He had bowed out from the world stage when Germany grew strong, though he could have rebelled, perhaps even stolen his younger brother's land. Perhaps his resistance wouldn't have changed things much; the humans decided, in the end. But Germany was not so naïve as to think it wouldn't have been much more difficult for him to grow up, for the German Empire to unite, if the soul of the strong Prussian nation had fought back.

"You all think I offed them, don't you?" Prussia asked now, the shadow of a sneer on his face. "I know for certain that eyeglasses thinks I did."

"I just don't know," Germany had to admit. "But I can't, no, I won't believe it. You're too much my brother. I don't see why you wouldn't be the same to the others."

"Hmpf." Prussia shook his head. "You have no idea."

"Please, trust me. For once?" Because it might very well be the last time, he didn't say, but they both seemed to hear it.

"It's not that... You don't want to know." Prussia looked down at his hands, closed his eyes as if seeing another time. The small soft smile that played on his face was not Germany's at all, who knew he had never cherished anyone in quite that way. No, Germany couldn't imagine stepping back for the sake of a nation he had raised and it stung him, to see Prussia's lack of fighting spirit. Wasn't he worth something now, fully grown? Why couldn't his brother believe in him, fight with him for a future?

When Prussia next spoke his voice was sad, as it had only been once before, when he spoke of his greatest king, a man the world would never know again. "You asked me, you see. You've asked me before, and I answered."

"What?"

"How to forget, that was what you wanted to know." Prussia lifted his head and looked straight at Germany, eyes like water. "And I promised, didn't I? That you wouldn't have to remember again."

The words stirred something inside him, something deep and painful. But whatever he would learn, Germany realised, it could never be greater than the pain that he had already known. All those times he had failed, all the mistakes he had made. What possible event in his past could ever surpass the moment when he finally realized how much blood he had shed and how hopelessly, terrifyingly wrong all his justifications had been?

"I'm not a child anymore."

Prussia nodded. "That you aren't." 

"I think," Germany closed his eyes and tried to remember. Back to a time before he became who he was. The years he knew should exist, but which Prussia always refused to speak of, that he had never allowed himself to recall. "I think I was one, the last time we spoke?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me. Please. You know I have grown up."

"My trust in you, West, has tended to be somewhat... misplaced. If you care to recall."

It hurt much more because he knew it was true. But when Germany reached blindly for the other's hand, he was not surprised to find Prussia's grasp waiting for him.

The older nation sighed deeply and fell back on the bed. He stared at the white ceiling intently, as if it held the answers to all the world's mysteries and his hand held onto Germany's.

"I guess. I guess we need to begin with your first name, your first life in a way. You still don't remember anything, do you?"

"No."

"Well." He snickered weirdly for a moment and squeezed his grip a little more. "To start with, you have always been _fond_ of Italians..."

* * *

Germany's head swam. He was trying to focus on making dinner, but while his hands mechanically peeled potatoes and stirred the sauce, his mind whirled with the revelations of the day.

It had taken Prussia several hours to tell him everything, with plenty of interruptions and a few angry denials from Germany's side. Despite how much he might have wanted to, he felt it all resonate too strongly within himself to deny. 

He had _given up_.

It was that simple. When he had failed to grow up, when he had begun falling to pieces in the long war. Despite his promises and obligations, he had just. Given in. Closed his eyes and tried to let go of it all.

That was how Prussia had found him. A gangly teenage nation, abandoned on a battlefield with nothing but corpses for company. His brother, who had then officially been his subordinate, had seen him and known him for what he was. He had, in his own words, "kicked your sorry little ass out of the grave because by hell, you didn't deserve the peace of it!" and dragged home the broken ruin of a nation that never quite was.

"I should have gone back to him," Germany had said, face buried in his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed and wished he could hide beneath it. "God, _why_ didn't I go back to him?!"

"Because you were a coward." Prussia's voice was cool, but his hand rested warm against Germany's leg. "And you were afraid he would not accept you."

It had been that fear, coupled with his weak body, which had made him ask for a release from all obligations. And, amazingly enough, Prussia had agreed to help him.

Help him forget, help him release the past. Had helped him, in essence, to be reborn.

"Why?"

Prussia only smiled.

"Why? Why was I worth it? Why not somebody better or braver! Who wasn't SO BLOODY WEAK!”

His brother only shruggedm put his hands beneath his head and returned to contemplating the ceiling. "They wouldn't have needed to beg for my protection, now would they?"

"But..." Germany fell silent, words leaving him as his mind was filled with memories. Not the bitter ones they had just discussed, but more recent ones. He thought of cheerful smiles and clumsy kindness; of a coward, a fool, and a friend, who needed him as he had never been needed before.

"We had to break it," his brother said. "The bond to, basically, yourself. Only worked because you were still a brat."

It took time. Germany had always known that; it took time for the ties to firm up properly, for borders to sink into their bones and language to become part of their blood. Centuries might pass, but until all the thousands upon thousands of things that made a group of people become a true nation came together, their kind remained half-formed, more dreams than men. Never before had he understood how personally grateful he should be for the long, slow growth of a nation.

Even so, he had been on the cusp of manhood and beeing freed had left him an empty husk. There were no recalled memories from these years while Prussia spoke, no feelings stirred in him. Only once the story moved on, beyond his rebirth to those years when he walked namelessly through the world, did he feel a vague sense of familiarity. Yes... He'd been that, Germany knew, that lost youth. 

Finally Prussia mentioned a name, a sister he had never seen and he knew the smallest taste of recognition.

"She was tall, wasn't she?" he said, trying to grasp the hazy image. 

"Yep. So was the second one, our brother."

"I think I can almost..." Germany looked down on his hands. "He built things, didn't he? I think I might have that too. When I make something, it always satisfies something in me."

"Perhaps it's a shadow of him," Prussia shrugged. "Perhaps you just like it. Who cares."

They had come, all of them, to that lost young nation. Some had followed Prussia's directions gladly, in particular the oldest ones. Their uncles and aunts, the first children of Germania. When they saw their end near, it was a release from a confusing new world. 

"Guns were a big change," Prussia mused. "Guns and writing and the new worlds they found. Some of us adapted. Some..."

"Didn't want to anymore." That was in him too, Germany suspected, a legacy from those before him that had resisted change. Traditions and order, the reverence for it had been given him so many times.

Others had refused. Lichtenstein ran before he could ever ask, knowing in some undefined way what Prussia had desired from her. 

"So I kicked her out, later," he said with grim satisfaction. "Hoped she'd just fade away without leaving anything behind. Blasted little Swiss-man had to interfere."

Germany hadn't dared ask if anyone had to be forced. He hadn't needed to, though, because Prussia swore swore that he'd never done that. 

"Didn't need to," he claimed. "The more the people dreamt of it, and when the bosses agreed. We couldn't resist, none of us, no more than we can turn history back." 

"But you are still here."

He was silent for a long while after that. When Germany dared to look at him, he saw the glitter of tears gathering in his brother's blue eyes. It was not his usual awkward, embarrassed panic, which Prussia always tried to hide. Just an oddly dignified weeping, too unassuming to fit with the mental image Germany had of the other nation.

"He left in my stead," Prussia said. "We'd shared it so long, but he left and spared me."

Germany felt his mouth go dry, but managed to still form the word - who?

"Brandenburg."

"You said he died when you took over."

There was a wave of a hand, then a flick to clear his face of tears.

"I've always been a bit of a liar."

"Were you..."

"Brothers," Prussia said. "Brothers who fought and quarrelled and teased each other."  
He didn't sob. His voice did not shake, but Germany nevertheless wanted to reach out and hold him. Wanted to, but couldn't manage, for guilt and confusion and a myriad of other things that lay between them. "We trusted each other."

"I'm sorry," he said instead. He was. For everything they had lost and everything he had not dared to remember. 

"He'd been the land and the folktales, all the common people and their common lives," Prussia continued in a flat voice. "I'd been the fighters and the masters, the cities and the roads." He sat up, put his hand against Germany's heart and stared straight through him into a past only Prussia knew. 

When Germany's own hand came to rest against his wrist, he shuddered. His own heart beat steadily, butPrussia? His pulse had become almost impossible to feel. 

"Everything I was, rested completely on him."

"I'm sorry."

"And still, it was different than with the old man, you know, the first one. The first Prussia. He was neither my kin nor my friend," Now his attention seemed to have returned to Germany again, for he waited for his nod before continuing. 

"I kept him almost as a serf, until he faded away in age and bitterness. Didn't miss him a bit," he stated. And it was impossible for a young nation with only the vague memories of his past to know whether he was lying or not.

"Berlin was his first, wasn't it?" Germany said, testing the images flickering in his mind. "Your...our brother's."

"That it was. Remained, even after he left." And now his voice finally broke and Germany felt his hand claw at his shirt. "It's always been a city to share."

Splitting and sharing wasn't the same thing, Germany thought, but he knew he'd never be able to put that in words Prussia could understand. Instead, he asked the question that burned most strongly inside him.

"Why didn't you try to stop it?" 

And now when Prussia looked at him, there was the oddest smile on his face. Perhaps, Germany had thought with painful clarity, despite all the pain and the tears this was the truest smile he had seen on his brother's face ever since he had been torn loose.

He was startled back to the present when the dogs began barking around his feet. With an embarrassed curse, Germany realised he had cut himself. It was only a minor wound, but he cleaned it properly anyway. It was fascinating, really, to see this blood and know to how many it belonged to before. Not just his people, all the Germans, but his own kind. Of all the ones who had come and gone before him, the ones who had made him. 

"Everything I am," he said softly. "Rests completely on them."

And how had he thanked them for their trust and hopes? By repeating the same mistakes that had destroyed him once. Only on a much grander scale. 

"See?" he told the dogs and held up his hand, covered by a fresh plaster. "Completely fine."

At least this time, he hadn't tried to run from his responsibility. He hadn't asked somebody else to be his strength, hadn't needed the gifts of life and past, of _realness_ from his family. A good thing too, considering how few relatives he had left.

Germany carried the food to the table where Prussia sat waiting. His hair had still not faded back to its true colour, but there was something in him again. Not a spirit, Germany thought, more like a desire for, or a belief in tomorrow. He hadn't seen that in quite a while. It was amazing, he thought, how he could miss the older nation's greed after so many year of trying to quench it.

"Brother," he said once they realized that they would only manage half the potatoes tonight, and he had put the rest into the refrigerator. "I am not you."

"Yeah? One could almost say it's starting to be the other way around, huh?"

" _No_. I am not you. I don't wish to be alone."

"Well, hell, if wishes were guns, I'd be the king of the world! We're supposed to be, don't you know that?" Prussia threw him a beer and opened his own against his teeth. Yet another thing which Germany had once despaired of, that now brought him a little bit of joy. It was Prussia, after all. It was Prussia, as the fussy eating and too long brushing of teeth or too careful folding of his clothes, was not. 

"Hello, anyone home?"

"I'm sorry." He shook his head and tried a smile, opened the beer the proper way and even got up to get a glass. "Just drifted off a little."

"Hmpf. But we’re nations, you know? Not really made to be two in the same place."

"You've never cared much for rules before. Besides, for all your posturing, you haven't really spent much time alone, have you?"

"Don't go there," he was warned.. "That was different."

"Really?"

"Really." Prussia finished off his beer and grabbed another one. "No," he said sternly. "I'm not going to discuss this with you. You have your answers now, so go on. Figure things out."

"Don't you want to live?"

For a long time, Prussia remained silent. Finally, he walked up to the counter and pulled down a steel pan. As everything else in Germany's kitchen, it was polished to a gleaming shine and he looked at himself for a long while before answering. 

"Depends. No." He finally said, touching his blond hair, mouth curled in disgust. "Not while you try to remake me into you."

* * *

Almost a week had passed since Prussia's revelations. Germany didn't know whether to celebrate that his brother had not faded completely, or despair because nothing he did or suggested seemed to help him find a balance.

They still slept together every night, despite Germany's growing terror that he would one day wake up and find no warm body in his arms. That he would never again be kicked awake for tossing and turning too much or have to wince and squeeze his eyes shut as Prussia's morning breath after several dozen beers hit him. And yet, to have Prussia so close, even when his body had grown too tall and his nightmares were no longer entirely his own, was a kind of companionship he had never possessed before. He could not imagine refraining from it, until forced to do so by the inevitable.

He tried to call Italy too. Germany knew he must speak to his friend, but every time the dear voice answered with a happy "Ve!" he smashed the receiver down, heart thumping in heavy panic. Still a coward, it seemed, when it came to some things.

Then he woke up one morning to find not just his right arm trapped beneath the heavy weight he'd come to recognize as Prussia, but his left one too. By a smaller, weaker nation, yes, but one who had held him securely as any manacle, who had done so through burning war and all that came after.

He had tried to speak that time, he had really truly tried, but Italy could only stay a little while and the words stuck in his throat. Only when his old friend had thrown his arms around him and kissed him goodbye, did he find the strength to do something. It was so surprisingly easy to answer in kind and there had been a startled blush on the shorter nation as he left them. But, also, a very pleased smile and Germany knew they would be all right.

Naturally, Prussia had teased him mercilessly once Italy had left. Especially because Germany had been so dazed that he hadn't been fast enough to protest when he suggested that they take after Italy's 'sleeping gear'. 

"Come on! It's summer soon!" Prussia said with barely restrained glee.

"I'll throw you out of the window if you even consider it," Germany finally managed, feeling as if his face would explode. 

"Ahh, well. Guess it's not as much fun when you don't really have my awesome body to snuggle up to." Prussia's hand stroked down his own body, and his smile took on a very odd twist as his nails scraped over fabric strained tight by muscles. "Not that you're too bad looking yourself, heh."

"Stop that! That's sick!"

"You're imagining it, aren't you?" Again, Prussia pulled his hair back, licking his lips teasingly. "Come on! Admit it, you're a bit curious, hmm?"

"Brother. I am not," a deep breath, "the narcissist in this household. And would you stop doing that!"

"You could consider it a practice run. Before," he nodded towards the closed door. "Letting you-know-who give it a run."

"I'm NOT LISTENING!"

Prussia's clothes had become too tight lately, although he stubbornly refused to stop wearing his favourite shirts or jackets. Now when he stretched his arms out behind his back, the fabric pulled tight, seams nearly pulling apart. 

"It's fucking unfair, getting a body like this without a proper workout," he murmured, a dangerous red gleam appearing in the depths of his eyes. "Don't you agree? West?"

As if hearing his name, that particular name, broke a spell, Germany tore his eyes away. Managing a weak excuse about very urgent paperwork, he escaped into his office. Prussia's triumphant cackle followed, tormenting him all the way.

The worst thing was, he realized when he finally dared to climb into bed after hours upon hours of punishing paperwork, that he really wasn't a narcissist. No, it had been that thrill of danger, the challenge that his brother always presented that had almost, almost...

"AAAH!"

"Wha's't now, W'st?" Prussia mumbled sleepily.

"PUT SOME BLOODY CLOTHES ON, YOU LUNATIC!" he roared as he grabbed the blanket and escaped to the safety of the living room and its (blessedly narrow) couch.

Since he had to go take a cold shower the next time he even considered calling Italy, Germany decided that sharing the revelations about his past could wait a little. Not too long, just until he had solved this latest problem.

Or killed Prussia himself. An option that was becoming increasingly tempting.

* * *

"I have a solution," Germany finally said.

"That's great." Prussia didn't even look up from his computer game, biting his lip in absolute concentration as the enemy troops approached. "Splendid. Hah, yes!" His hand shot into the air, balled into a triumphant fist while a tiny victory fanfare played. "That'll show him."

"Are you listening to me?" Germany adjusted his glasses and tapped his foot. Prussia continued to play. He glared down at the nation completely absorbed in his game, feeling hands clenching slightly too tight around the ten-page long explanation he had prepared.

"Bloody ass," his ungrateful brother muttered, hands flying over the keyboard. "What? Yeah, listening, go on."

Since Prussia's eyes had not once stopped following the little, Germany squinted, vehicles on the screen, he met these assurances with a certain amount of scepticism. When he tried waving a hand between the screen and his brother's face, the older nation swatted him on the nose with unfailing aim. 

"Please save and finish your game, Brother," Germany said in a tone that brook no discussion.

"Yeah, hang on a mo'. I think America and Russia are ganging up on me, what the hell is that, huh?"

"America and Russia?" 

"Unless it's that little wimp, Liet, that's playing Russia today." Prussia hummed suspiciously and did something that appeared to start a virtual explosion on the screen. "Yeah, thought so. That defensive move?" he nodded at something, possibly the second explosion. "Totally Liet. Bitch."

"I warn you..."

The answer was merely a further vague humming and Germany felt his patience snap. If it had made a sound, he thought with a slightly evil smirk, it would have sounded almost exactly like an electric cord pulled from the wall.

And sweet, justified revenge? Why, if he had to give that a sound effect, Prussia's hurt howl as the screen flickered to black would fit very nicely.

It took some cajoling and two beers before his brother was calm enough to listen to him again. At least that was much more entertaining than hearing him crush his enemies on the computer. A task, Germany knew from long-suffering experience, which could keep him busy until next sunrise, when Korea came online and soundly trounced any sleep-deprived opponent that dared remain.

"What's this fucking brilliant solution then?" Prussia asked, mollified by the beers and Germany's declaration that he'd certainly have defeated the others during the next two rounds if it hadn't been for his interference.

"Ahem." Germany looked down at his papers. "It's really not that difficult, I think and it may not be a permanent solution, but I believe we should give it a try." He cleared his throat and shuffled the papers a little more. "Yes. As I was saying, if we do these ten steps, we will find ourselves in a far better situation."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Here, I prepared a copy for you too." He pushed over a pale green folder with a pattern of frolicking rabbits on it.

Prussia couldn't keep a snort back as he took it, and he shook his head, glancing at Germany from beneath his messy bangs. "Bunnies, eh?"

"Bunnies," Germany agreed, very solemnly.

"Don't tell me it's the same pattern on the papers?"

"No." It wasn't; Germany had found a lovely set of stationary with a different set of puppies on each page. 

"What do they say when you keep buying this stuff, I wonder?" Prussia's eyes shone up when he opened the folder and he shook his head. "You big dork."

"Remember, you're not allowed to turn to the next page until you've read it all!" Germany warned him. "Otherwise, I'll ask England to make dinner for you. Whilst I go visit Italy."

Closing the adorable folder with a mock shudder of fear, Prussia leaned back and nodded sagely. "I'm no fool. Know when I'm defeated." He waved his hand in a regal movement and put on the mask of vague but benign interest, which Germany had seen him use on far too many bosses to trust in the least. 

The steps were simply and, in Germany's opinion, most logical. Prussia needed something that was his to remain here. So, he would take over a few things and handle them completely on his own. They could discuss the details on how the transfer of responsibility would go, but Germany had included several suggestions beneath steps six to eight on what he thought was the best way of doing it.

"I promise," Germany finished. "Whatever happens, I won't interfere. Not even if every damn Autobahn in the country breaks down."

He looked up from his papers. Prussia had kept unusually silent during his little explanation. However, in the spirit of things he had forced himself not to glance up as he usually did, choosing to trust that his brother's attention hadn't wandered off to somewhere more entertaining. 

It hadn't, amazingly enough. However, far from the satisfaction of having a plan, perhaps even some renewed hope, he could only see a stiff disapproval on Prussia's face.

"You don't have to take the roads, if you don't want to." Germany said. "I just figured..." He trailed off beneath Prussia's glare. "Since you've done it before. And you like to travel, right?" 

He had expected some resistance, certainly. Only he had imagined something along the lines of annoyance that Prussia would actually have to work! Perhaps even a refusal to touch areas that he considered beneath him. He had not expected this cool, and almost level-headed show of complete disapproval.

"I told you," Prussia said, enunciating each word too clearly. "I refuse to become you."

"You're not!" Germany put his papers down and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms onhis trouser legs. "I promise, some things will be yours and some mine and we can-"

Prussia cut him off. "Will you let me rule your army?" 

He fell silent. "The army? Uhn..."

"The army, The navy." Prussia rose, beginning to pace around the table. "The airforce and the police, the _secret_ police; everything, in fact," he leaned over him, voice still too serious and cold, "which has power."

"I don't know if– "

"The power to hurt people. The power," his smile showed teeth that were slightly too sharp. "To hurt you, who would not have these forces."

"Nobody would agree to that," Germany said, raising his chin. "Even if I wanted to!"

"You can't!" Prussia continued to pace and Germany sat frozen on the couch. "Because they were mine once. They. Were. Me. Don't you get it?"

And Germany closed his eyes, hearing the truth in those words. "They are me too," he admitted. "So much."  
Despite how he had wished otherwise after the war, Germany could not shake the ties to his forces, no more than he could cut off his own head and keep on breathing.

"That they are." There was no longer anger in Prussia's voice, only a deceptive lightness. He came around Germany, put his hands on his shoulders and bent down to whisper close in his ear. "That's what makes us strong, to have, to be the power to dominate," he told him. "It's what you lacked as a child."

"I didn't even have a people!"

"Well..." His brother was so close that he could feel a smile curve against his cheek. "Neither did I to start with. But see what a little slaughter brought me?"

When he turned around, Prussia did not draw back. In a way, Germany was not surprised when their lips brushed together; this, too, had been building for a while. It was neither a true problem of its own, nor a solution to anything. Still, for a few moments they allowed themselves to indulge in the fleeting cure against loneliness. 

Prussia's lips only just touched his and when Prussia drew back a little, Germany realised that he was as unable to move forward as he had been to withdraw. 

"Ah." Prussia's hand on his head was warm and large, but it touched him with the softness of a farewell. "So that's how it is."

"I don't know what to do," Germany admitted, feeling the useless papers in his hand crumple. It’s trash, all of it. His last desperate hope, nothing but paper to be recycled after all.  
"I thought that maybe, like this, we could find a balance. You have managed before, after all."

"Only because my masters forced me to," Prussia said and moved away from him completely. "And even then, I didn't have to bow to anyone but them. It's not in my nature, see?"

Germany turned forward again, staring into nothing. There was an odd hush around the house; they could hear no neighbours, no traffic outside.The silence was peppered only by the creaking of wood, and when Germany reached with his other self, he felt the ties between them and the real world change again.

Prussia's storage closet was vanishing. The place was sliding out of existence as he sat here. Now there were only two rooms left; the rarely used office and the library with its near millennia worth of memories captured on paper and parchment. He couldn't let them disappear too, _he couldn't_. Because Germany feared that those memories were all that kept Prussia here.

"Something's going on."

"Yes." Germany put a hand over his heart, feeling the scar over Berlin pulse slightly. "Something is."

"In a way," Prussia said while walking slowly over to the great gilded mirror on the wall. "I guess one could see this as you finally healing?"

That particular shade of blond on Prussia’s head was startling, to say the least. Germany hurried to avert his eyes before he glimpsed the face in the mirror. He could not close out Prussia's small keen of pain, though, nor un-see the way his hands grasped the bureau until the fingers turned white.

"What about further back?" Germany said, the words falling too clumsily out of his mouth. "I mean, you were officially part of the Holy Roman Empire. Wasn't he, well, me?"

"I-" Prussia's voice choked off, but he struggled to straighten and continued to speak. "Hardly noticed it, honestly. You weren't really present enough to bother with, West. Bastard Austria, on the other hand..."

"But you were still you," he said, remembering the years he had spent under the control of the Allies. "Like I have been me for as long as I can remember."

"Exactly."

"Is there _no_ way?"

"Prussia isn't a country with an army," his brother quoted, "but an army with a country." One of his hands lifted, trembling ever so slightly. 

It took all of Germany's self-control not to follow the movement with his eyes, not to see the truth in the mirror.

There came an unsteady laugh from Prussia. "I've never been easy to handle! Should've seen Fritz when he was young."

"You've told me."

"Ah? Yes. Guess so."

"I remember him, a little." Germany considered. "Bit more now that you've told me about my past. But it's still only bits and pieces."

"That man was too great to be grasped as a whole," Prussia said, slowly sliding a finger up and down the mirror, making Germany's teeth ache with the squeaky sound he caused against the glass. "And I tried to understand him his entire life. _My_ entire life, since the day he almost ran away, when I-"

"Yes?"

"When I realised that, though I was angry, and his father was angry, I still couldn't help it."

He turned from the mirror and, finally, Germany beheld his own face. There was no difference as far as he could see. Nothing off in the slightly bewildered look. They had the same dark rings of worry beneath the same blue eyes. There was the unruly blond hair that met him every morning, until he tamed it with combs and pomade. Nothing left that reminded him of Prussia. Except the voice which spoke of a man who had died long ago but somehow managed to stay more alive in his brother's memory than most people who were alive today.  
"Could never stop loving him."

"And it's not worth it, to go on? For his sake, his memory?"

Even the tiny smile was Germany's, awkward but honestly nervous in a way that Prussia's smirks never were. Better to lie once too often, was his motto, than to reveal a weakness to an enemy. 

"He'd probably try and force me to go on," Prussia admitted. "Him and his father too. They were both, in their own way, too fond of me."

"There is no way your kings could have been too fond of you."

"Perhaps not," he admitted. "But it could damn well be the other way around. Think it's a family trait, sometimes. We follow and serve too well."

Germany had to shake his head at that, and raised his hand in protest. "No!" And not just because there had never been any of that fondness lost between them, him and his mad boss who dreamt of making him into something that should never have been. "You have never served 'well'. You've served stubbornly, protesting all the way, until they've given you what you wanted."

"What I wanted?"

"The next war," Germany said, remembering his youthful lessons and the fervour his brother had always shown. "You wanted the next battle, and the next after that. No king could ever give you enough, could they?"

Prussia nodded, then cocked his head in a way that was achingly familiar to Germany and, thank God, for once not from the mirror. "Guess that's true. You know I remember that it was, like, the only fucking thing I liked about Russia."

He blinked, unable to follow the sudden shift in the conversation.

"Used to call me his dog all the time." He showed his teeth suddenly and Germany marvelled at the sight. Perhaps South Italy did have a point when he called German smiles scary.

"And her, he dared call her his bitch." Prussia pressed his palm flat against the mirror, kept pressing until Germany wondered why it did not break. "Doesn't deserve to lick her shoes, asshole! But, you know, West? We were his _guard_ dogs." He nodded slowly, as if recalling a moment of pride from a time when he had too few things to take pride in.  
"First line of defence, if the idiot with the stars and spangles showed up. If," he looked at Germany as if measuring him with his eyes, "you were to try anything."

Germany wondered how many other nations had met their own eyes like this, and seen how they found themselves wanting. 

"Hah. I didn't mind being his dog quite that much when I thought of it so."

"Even when he had mastered you, one you hated?"

"Even then." The disconcerting eyes closed and Prussia nodded slowly. "I guess he gave me just enough of what I needed. Someone to hate, someone to serve and someone..."

"... to fight?"

The crack of the glass breaking rang sharp in the stillness of their home. "Someone to fight for," Prussia breathed and looked at his broken mirror image. "That's all I ever needed. Enemies?" He cackled, his laughter as shattered as the mirror. "Oh, they tend to show up on their own!"

Germany wondered if his mind, too, had broken. Or, perhaps, an old spirit had been released from the other side. Someone to whisper in his heart and point out the solution that suddenly blazed clear in his mind. 

His hand searched for the table lamp, finding and curling ever so slowly around its cord, while his gaze remained locked on Prussia.

"I think it depends on why we are born," the older nation continued his monologue, fingers teasing along the cracks in the mirror. "See, some rise from the farmer's soil while others descend with the stroke of a sword."

He tugged once, and felt the cord come loose. Still not seeing, not thinking, Germany rose and felt the cool weight of marble in his hand. "Go on," he whispered. "Go on. Tell me why what you have now isn't enough."

"I can't become like you," Prussia said. "Even though I try and I try. I thought it would be my only hope, that if I could look at the world as you do it, everything would fall in place again."

"And I looked at you," Germany said, still speaking so low that it was a miracle Prussia heard him at all, still coming closer step by slow step. "I saw what I wanted you to become without remembering who you are. Yes. I think I understand now."

Prussia brought both hands up, laying them flat around the image of his face. They were, Germany was not surprised to notice, only the slightest bit translucent. 

"Then you see why I don't have the energy to keep trying, don't you?"

The marble felt so good in his hand, he thought, as he lifted it high. Smooth. Old. Familiar, but it was still beautiful. It only lacked a few scars, and it would remind him of a dear person.

"I think I can give you what you want, Brother. If you give me one last chance"

Though to Germany's ears, his voice sounded odd, Prussia did not appear to notice anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps he was simply transfixed by the sight of his own new visage.

"What would that possibly be? You hardly need my protection anymore. I'm useless."

"Someone to fight against," Germany breathed, tensing his entire body, clenching the lamp until his arm trembled. "And a master to fight for."

Prussia's eyes finally flickered his way, but it was too late; he had already begun swinging the lamp downwards. Those awful, _fake_ blue eyes widened, the disgusting stolen mouth opened – before it could protest, he slammed the marble lamp into Prussia's head and watched him crash limply to the floor.

The lamp dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers. Now it was Germany who had to grab hold of the bureau unless he was to follow Prussia's fall. And, oh crap, the older nation was still lucid. Though he groaned in pain, he clawed viciously at Germany's leg.

"You. Little. SHIT!" Prussia howled and tried to jerk him to the floor, receiving a swift kick for his trouble. 

Acting mostly on instinct, Germany dropped himself onto his brother before he had time to rise. He tried to grab him and lock his arms but discovered that the older nation was too wily to fall into that trap. Instead, his hands found themselves a more vulnerable target still moving mostly on their own. They were drawn to grasp around the vulnerable throat. While Prussia tried to claw his eyes out, he began to squeeze, first softly but within moments firm enough to choke.

"Is this what you need?" he whispered, feeling a burning madness taking hold. "Is this... did any of them, who ruled you before, try it this way?"

The flash of red in the faded eyes, the familiar defiant snarl, was all the answer he needed. 

"Yes," Germany whispered and pulled his struggling brother up by the throat, ignoring the deep scratches he was given, not caring that he could not avoid the forceful kicks.

"I don't need to convince you to stay, Brother," he murmured, releasing Prussia with one hand and managing to catch one of his flailing arms, twisting it painfully. "I just need to _hold you here_!"

Prussia no longer had air enough to speak, but the mouthed expletive was still clear as day. It would have made Germany chortle if he'd dare to relax, because it was so beautifully his brother and he had missed this anger for too long.

"Don't worry," he whispered as he turned Prussia around. "I won't ever let go."

"Fuck off," the other coughed when his tortured throat was released, so Germany could take a firm hold of his hair instead. "Ha– Have you lost your mind?"

Germany considered for a moment. He held Prussia securely now, both his hands held tight and then additionally trapped between their bodies. His brother's head was pulled backwards, revealing the throat in a move that Germany recalled felt both horribly vulnerable and oddly degrading; especially when one was surrounded by four victorious and vengeful nations. Though, he had to admit, there was probably more than one nation who would testify that his own presence could be terror-inspiring too.

"No, you know what?" he said, pressing a knee against Prussia's leg, unbalancing him before he could mess things up. "I don't think I have." He smiled a little upon seeing them in the mirror; they looked like identical twins and for once, Prussia was not fit to fill the role of the evil one. "But it's hard to be objective about that."

He pulled Prussia even closer, for once initiating the unsettlingly intimate touches that had begun to appear between them these last weeks. As Germany's lips touched Prussia's cheek, he watched in the mirror the telling way in which his jaw worked while a blush began to spread over his face. 

"Will you trust me?" Germany asked. "Again?"

His brother's face– or rather, his own– was a mixture of fury and fear. But he hadn't refused yet. Even as he kept struggling against the grip, twisting his head until it looked as if he might scalp himself, Prussia did not refuse. In the end, when it became apparent that despite their identical looks, it was still the younger brother who was stronger, he stopped squirming and held himself stiffly as far away from Germany as he could manage. 

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Germany could have sworn there was something just a hint sharper in the other set, a tilt of an eyebrow that differed from his own. Just a hint, but enough to pin his hopes on. 

"Please. One last time..." 

The reply was the merest breath, a soft sound he so rarely heard Prussia use. "Always."

Germany took the word like a precious treasure and hid it deep inside, beneath the self that strove through daily life, argued and commanded more often than he'd wish. It would rest there, at the bottom of that secret place where he hid all the other beautiful things, those he dared not touch for fear of breaking their very memory by doing so too often. 

Just as he would now proceed and break his brother. 

It took an eternity to manage that first twitch of his arm, to grasp Prussia's head tighter so that he snarled in discomfort, but it took hardly a moment to finish the movement where he smashed his brother's face against the wooden bureau. 

Then another moment – a second that stretched yet took no time at all – when he waited for a familiar, furious scream. He lifted Prussia again, forced his head down with increased force, again and again until the screaming was abruptly cut off. 

It seemed to him as if the time in which he had done this, was unreal; as unreal as he felt standing here with Prussia limp and bloody in his arms.

One moment that had not been, an attempt to take back something time had tried to steal from him. It was, Germany decided, worth it. It must be.

His lips moved over the bloodied face, feeling the broken nose, tasting the salt and iron that covered Prussia.  
"Just trust me," he said, not caring how his voice shook. "I'll hold you here, if I have to nail you to this world, piece by goddamn piece."


	2. See How We Pretend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the warnings for Explicit Sexual Violence, this is where it starts.

Tightening the last lace on his boot, Germany tried to steel himself for what was to come. He was almost certain that this wasn't a completely insane idea. Less so than all the others, surely.

He was sitting on the bed, wearing only a pair of khaki-coloured trousers and high black boots. The old necklace felt unusually heavy around his neck, stuck to skin clammy with cold sweat. Though Germany had locked and boarded all doors and windows, there was a tingle of paranoia in him-what if someone showed up? What if Italy came by, or France! Again and again, he tested the bedroom door to make sure it was properly locked. 

One final time, Germany looked over the instructions he'd hurried to print out – there had been no possibility to procure proper books, but the internet was full of helpful tips. He just hoped some of them would be of use and that he would not mix it all up in the heat of the moment. 

At last, he managed to move off the bed, walked slowly to the phone and unplugged it with a firm jerk. There, no one would disturb them now.

The room had been hastily reorganized. He had pushed the bed against the wall and tacked the two largest towels to the windows to block the weak light that snuck in through the closed blinds. Further, he had taken off the lampshade, leaving only a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The stark light enhanced every shadow and blemish on the still body tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the room.

His brother's (wrong) hair was now almost completely hidden beneath a swaddle of bandages. Germany had carefully taped together where the skin had split, just above his left eyebrow. 

Tenderly, his finger ghosted over the face, finding it far easier to not see himself in it when Prussia was so covered. The bound man twitched a little, but remained slumped forward in the chair.

"Wake up, Brother," he said softly, moving his hand downwards until it encountered his old choke collar, hanging around an already slightly bruised throat. A tool for training dogs he had once bought out of curiosity and then never used on its intended targets. Although training this beast was apt to prove a bit more...difficult. So perhaps it was for the best that he had held on to it.

He'd attached a length of nylon rope to one end of the collar, and made sure to hang Prussia's treasured cross from it too . Despite the heavy lump of nervousness in his stomach, his fingers itched to tug the rope and he took comfort in that knowledge. He _would_ be able to do what needed to be done. He wanted to do it.

"Wake up," he repeated, sitting down on the low stool he had prepared for himself. Germany continued to touch the bare body with curious fingers that moved with greater security with every forbidden place they touched. In a way, it had been comfortingly familiar to bend slack arms backwards and fasten them against the back of the sturdy chair. The ropes came from his workshop, the knots he could have secured in his sleep and prisoners? Yes, he knew how to deal with them, even if he usually didn't strip them.  
Prussia's legs were also bound. He had tucked them behind the front legs of the chair and secured him with more rope. The blue nylon wound its way up his naked calves in as much of a pattern as Germany had managed to improvise. 

Except for these ropes, the cross and the bandages swathing his head, Prussia wore nothing. Germany had considered covering his sex with something, to give him at least the illusion of dignity. But he wasn't certain if he would manage to completely strip Prussia later, when he was awake, and left him uncovered instead.

Now, that fear proved quite unfounded. Germany touched his brother there, between his legs. The first time, his hand jerked back as if burned, but it was too fascinating to leave alone. He closed his eyes and felt the soft penis, so smooth beneath his fingers. Though he had left off his own shirt, Germany began to find the room uncomfortable hot and knew he did not want to be alone any more.

"Brother," he spoke, louder than before. "You're not allowed to sleep any longer." He had begun stroking gently, without having planned so beforehand. As Prussia stirred, Germany felt the first thrilling rush of desire and he thought that maybe, maybe this had even been a _good_ idea. 

"Wha-" Prussia lifted his head warily, eyes flickering here and there in confusion. "The fuck," he muttered. "Why'm hurting?"

"Because I-" Germany broke off, cursing his own audible nervousness. It wasn't to be, he decided, not when his brother needed him to be strong. He drew a deep breath and straightened, reluctantly releasing Prussia. 

"I hurt you," he said firmly, finding the old familiar drill-sergeant voice. This was where he needed to be. Just hold on to his discipline, let it replace self-confidence. He'd done that often enough before.

"You?" Prussia tried to turn, tugging ineffectively at his bonds. When he realised just how securely he had been tied down, his eyes widened in shock and he stared at Germany in growing apprehension. "You little fucker."

"I will hurt you more before we are done," Germany continued, voice steady and demeanour ruthless. He'd found it again. Found the security, and the feeling that he was doing right. As long as he could keep this knowledge foremost in his mind, he could continue marching down this road forever.

"Shush, listen," he ordered, putting a silencing finger over Prussia's lips, noting their welcoming softness. Though Germany was wary for him to try and bite, it seemed as if Prussia was still too dazed to try something like that. A brief respite, he was certain. 

"I am planning to hurt you," Germany stated. "Punish you for your appalling weakness. You should have heard China mock you! I will then force you to accept me as your master, since you seem unable to stand on your own." He grasped the face that was too much like his and twisted it roughly, so that they stared each other clearly in the eyes. Too blue. For now. "However, I do not want to break you completely."

"Don't get cocky," Prussia began, his voice rising in anger. "You conceited little ass! I fucking raised you! I _made_ you! If you think– "

"Yes," Germany cut him off. "I do think. I know I can tame you." He smiled and moved closer, until his forehead rested against Prussia's bandaged one. "You raised me well, you know? I think I've been much stronger than either of us wanted to believe, for several years now. And I'm finally going to do what I should have done long ago."

"Oh?"

"Oh yes, brother dear." The smile that formed on his face felt queer, as if he had never moved these muscles quite so. Though, from the shocked look it generated, he thought it only too familiar to Prussia. But turnabout was only fair play, wasn't it? He'd been unnerved enough times while looking at Prussia and realizing that another piece of his own appearance had escaped from the mirror to find a new home on his brother.

"I will make you mine," Germany breathed. "I will own you completely. Bend you, show you your place in the world until you're begging to lick my boots." He kissed Prussia, lightly and teasingly, before taking hold of his penis again. This action made those blue-colored, stolen and false, eyes widen. It brought a new sharpness to Prussia's frown and that silky flesh felt so right against Germany's hand. "That place, you know where it'll be? Beneath me. Dearest Brother."

"Fuck. Off." 

His protest would have rung a truer if Germany had not felt him hardening, if his tongue had not flicked out again and again to moisten his dry lips.

"Not _quite_ ," Germany said and tightened his hand further, delighting in how Prussia winced. 

His breath was more rapid now, having grown almost shallow while Prussia tensed in his bonds. It inspired Germany something frightfully, and he found the rope hanging down Prussia's back, the one that was attached to that evil collar. Terror mingled with desire as he wound it around his hand.  
"Now, brace yourself," he warned, and began pulling the rope towards him ever so slowly. 

The chain-links of the collar rattled, a sound he never would have expected to find as sweet is it did. The links slipped tighter and tighter around Prussia's neck. His eyes were too wide, startled, but he remained frozen and spoke not a word of protest. 

Even with what he had already managed, Germany suspected that Prussia did not think his boring little brother could hurt him, not so deliberately. And he would continue to doubt, until he was proven painfully wrong. 

He stopped before the chain truly began to choke Prussia, satisfied that the metal constricted him just a hairsbreadth from strangling. Hopefully, this would be enough to show even the stubborn idiot that Germany meant what he said.

Clearing his throat, Germany tried to sound as stern as he ever had with Italy.  
"I don't think you need this, actually. Unless you have fallen even further than I'd realised, but the guides all insist. So, if it's ever too much..."  
Germany forced down his apprehension at saying those words. What the hell was he supposed to do if Prussia really said no? Just let him go? Lose him again? 

"If you truly can't bear it, ask me to be released." He looked steadily at Prussia, making sure that his gaze wasn't looking off into some past memory or wild plan of escape. "And when you do, call me Ludwig."

"I've never in my life called you that," Prussia scoffed. "And I'm not going to sta– "

When Germany yanked his hand down, Prussia's head snapped with him too as far as the ropes allowed. He twisted and choked, breath suddenly trapped by unforgiving metal. But the cock in Germany's hand grew harder despite the frantic and ultimately useless panting. When he squeezed back in reply, he saw how Prussia's face for a moment almost slackened in acceptance. 

"Look, I don't _want_ you to use any alias for me," Germany clarified, releasing him. He admired the way Prussia's head sank down, and the shadows deepening in his face and moving on his scarred chest as it moved rapidly when he gulped down air. Go on Brother, he silently urged, be greedy. Be yourself.

"Because, if you do, I stop. Everything stops. Remember that." 

Prussia's teeth seemed clenched around whatever answer he had, but when he lifted his face, there was a blood-red spark in his eyes. Beneath Germany's hand, his cock grew firmer and his hips lifted slightly, moving towards Germany as much as the bonds would allow.

"Good boy," Germany whispered. He tasted the smell of sweat and arousal, licking at the fresh bruises forming on Prussia's neck and felt himself grow so incredibly hard.

"Where the hell did you learn this anyway?," Prussia whispered, his hoarse voice startlingly loud from such a close distance.

"Oh, you know..." Germany shrugged and was glad that his embarrassment flush was hidden from view. "I've watched a lot of, ah, educational movies." 

"No shit?"

"No shit at all."

He abandoned the now fully hard cock, exploring the rest of his body instead. The nipples were like small pebbles, especially once he had twisted and teased them. When he bent forward to bite them, he was sure that Prussia's ragged breath contained a moan as well; more of those, he decided, many more. 

Reaching around the chair, Germany's fingers stroked the Oder-Neisse line that followed Prussia's spine. On him, the new borders had long ago begun to feel natural. As he had suspected, as the increasing tension in the body beneath his hands revealed, this was not quite the case with his brother. These scars, all they implied, were still something Prussia did not quite accept. They would change that, he decided, soon.

"Don't worry," he promised, "I'll bend your too-proud back until you've forgotten this pain completely."

"Not the first time someone's promised that," Prussia said, bitterness dripping from every word. 

Maybe not, but Germany was certain that few before him had made the promise out of sincere care for his well-being. He continued exploring Prussia, knowing that the words did not matter until he could prove them in actions. He raked his nails above the scarred patch above Prussia's heart, the heart that he could not even feel beating any longer. 

"This too, we've let it fester for too long," he promised.

"It's mine," Prussia said in immediate prostest. "And I'll keep it!"

"No." Germany said, drawing one fresh line straight over the area with his nail, over and over again, until he felt the skin split and a few drops of blood escape. "This too, all of you is mine. You'd do well to remember that."

He knew Prussia wanted to argue, would say the name of the city that had stolen too much of his self, and so he pulled the chain tight again, tighter than ever before. As Prussia choked and struggled in futile rage, Germany was pleased to notice that his face was slowly returning to its old shape. They were finding it then, that violent core in him that was still not prepared to let go of this world. 

Was it a master, an enemy, and someone to protect? Until history turned a new page and Prussia found himself with either of those again, Germany would be all three for him. It was with a certain shameful pleasure that he realised that, perhaps, this which had started as a duty could easily become something more. He may not even be willing to let his brother go again even if a day ever came when he should. That, though, was a problem for the future.

Prussia's eyes were beginning to roll back in his head and Germany released him. He took the chance to kiss the half-senseless nation, giving him of his own breath while he was still too dizzy to refuse. 

"You should see yourself," he said, resting his forehead against Prussia's. "You look so very good like this."

With a spark of crimson fire, Prussia lunged for him, using the only weapons left at his disposal. Germany managed to jerk back before he lost a piece of his nose, but nevertheless felt sharp teeth nip at his cheek. 

The slap came automatically. When Prussia's head was thrown aside, he barely managed to control the wave of desire threatening to overwhelm him. God help him. When did he begin to need this as much as his victim? 

He wanted nothing more than to hit him again, Germany realized. Following that thought came the little thrill of knowing that he could. He was allowed to. Just as he was allowed to pull his hair, force Prussia to look at him and see him as something besides the hard working, _boring_ little brother. Germany backhanded him, rejoycing in his strenght when Prussia's head snapped to the side again. Another slap, honestly more of a punch this time, and one final slap to even it out. 

The only sounds that escaped Prussia were brittle huffs of pain, but when he was done, Germany could see him blinking back tears. He ignored those for moment, instead fishing out a handkerchief to wipe away fresh blood from the poor abused nose. 

"Now that was not being a good boy at all," Germany said, rising to bring out a tool he had prepared with equal amounts of apprehension and excitement. "Good thing I'm used to taming beasts, wouldn't you say?"

The old bit and bridle were still as beautiful as in the days when they had belonged to a great king. They were faithfully polished, still cared for by his loyal nation. Now, when Germany gathered the gilded leather, feeling it creak in his hands, he hoped the king was happy that it found a worthy use again.

"Where did you get that?!" Prussia gasped, absolute fury in his voice. "Put it back!"

"Found it beside the gardening shears," Germany said with laughter. "All things considered, I don't think he would mind much?"

The telltale blush was answer on its own, but when Germany lifted the bridle over Prussia's head, he clenched his teeth shut and stared stubbornly ahead. Well, it wouldn't be much fun if he made this too easy.

"I could just choke you again, you know," Germany said and worked the bridle over his bandaged head. It didn't fit at all at the back, but he had rope and tape ready, to adjust it once it was in place. 

"But I don't want to bore you just yet," he smiled and began nuzzling his brother. He kept one hand on his head, stopping him from twisting away, and the other was ready with the bit. Though Prussia tried to avoid him, he soon found it impossible and merely sat, stiff and angry while trying to ignore Germany.

That wouldn't do at all, Germany knew. His kisses became wetter. He let himself lick and taste the hint of salt clinging to Prussia's eyelashes, the sticky blood streaked over his face. The tastes mingled perfectly together.  
"You really wish you could bite me now, don't you?" he teased as he moved to sit on Prussia's lap. The position almost brought their erections together and he slid forward, trying to press his clothed, but very hard cock against Prussia's. 

"I guess you just have to choose." He kissed and licked to his heart's content, rubbed himself against Prussia's stiff cock and felt the trapped man squirm what little he could, helpless in his bonds. When Germany, finally, kissed those tightly pressed lips, his victim couldn't resist him. 

With a moan, Prussia's mouth opened and allowed him to enter with a wary tongue. 

For a little while they kissed deeply, both nations too hungry for each other to try and battle the other in any way. Then Germany, with some reluctance, slipped the bit between his brother's teeth. He felt him curse and fought to hold it in place, until he managed to secure the bridle properly. Finally, he managed to get it in place, and now Prussia could only bite futilely at the metal and glare at him.

Which he did, much to Germany's excitement. 

"Complain as much as you want, but you are looking more and more like yourself," he murmured. "Maybe I should get you a mirror, hmm?"

He glanced down at Prussia's erection trapped between them. It would be a shame if this was to disappear before he got back. Ineffective and he was nothing if not effective. In light of that, Prussia really shouldn't have looked so surprised when Germany hauled up an unused shoelace from the side of his boot. 

"Waste not, want not like you always say when I try to throw your junk away," he murmured and pulled off the aglet with his teeth. "There now, we don't want it to scratch anything, right?"

The bit made Prussia's words half unintelligible, especially when he was grumbling under his breath, but when Germany slipped the shoelace around the base of his cock and began to carefully wind it - round, between the balls, up and round again - both his verbal and non-verbal communication was simple to follow. 

Carefully, he slid down to kneel beneath the opened legs, finishing off the last knot. "Doesn't hurt, I hope?" he whispered, touching Prussia gently. His cock, first of all, but he also took a moment to stroke the bound feet and reach behind him to feel his hands. Not chilly and when he squeezed, the fingers moved, squeezing back a little. "Well?"

Prussia rolled his eyes and snorted, as clear an answer as he was going to get. Germany swallowed, feeling the butterfly-tingle in his stomach grow into a fluttering storm. It had been so easy a moment ago when he'd been in that hard place of his mind, where lecturing at someone came easier than talking to them. But once he'd allowed the softness into this, this crazy re-forging that he was attempting, the intimacy of it nearly overwhelmed him with embarrassment. 

Despite how tempting Prussia looked just then, with his red cock straining against the bonds, it was a relief for Germany to flee the room. He rested his head against the hall mirror for a moment, hoping that the cool glass could calm his feverish mind a little. 

He liked it. Prussia liked it too. It even seemed to work. Then why the hell was he so nervous? Because he'd just gotten started, he thought, and he feared what it would take before Prussia honestly bowed before him. He feared where it would take them both.

"Man up, Germany," he whispered and grabbed the mirror off the wall. "Just another duty." Only, it wasn't any more, and that was half the problem.

When he opened the bedroom door again, the scene inside made him weak in the knees. Prussia's chair was turned deliberately towards the door, so that the first thing his eyes were drawn to was his stiff sex, displayed so well beneath the glare of the light bulb. Second, as his gaze travelled upwards, came the glint of metal by his mouth, then the metal around his throat and soon all the little details spun together in an image almost straight out of Germany's secret dreams.

Only one thing marred the vision, but he pushed it away with all his might. Better to focus on those things - the demeaning way the bit forced his lips apart and made some drool spill down one side of his face, or the quiver in the muscular thighs when he tried not to thrust his bound cock against empty air. 

Better, because it excited him, so that he forgot all apprehension. Better, for so Germany had never seen himself and he saw, easily, the traces of his brother. What he did not like was to meet the blue eyes or admire the straining shoulders, too broad to be properly Prussia's.

The other man, however, seemed imminently interested to judge from the way he was unable to tear his gaze away from the mirror the moment Germany brought it into the room. A small keening sound escaped him when Germany leant it against the bed, where it reflected Prussia perfectly. 

"Do you like what you see, Brother? Do you imagine me in this position?" he asked, walking to stand behind him. Prussia's fingers reached desperately at him, but he bent carefully so as to keep more sensitive parts away from the searching digits. 

He hummed a little, bending to lick and bite at the bruises forming a delicious ring around Prussia's throat. "Don't forget, that it's not really me. You are the one only one bound tonight." 

When he reached the muscle between neck and shoulder, he bit deeper, making sure to leave a deep bruise. Once Prussia was groaning beneath him, Germany withdrew and observed the pair they made in the mirror. Himself, still almost spotless, and Prussia? Scuffed, beaten and with deep bruises blooming by his neck. 

"I'll be the one to conquer you," Germany promised, feeling almost dizzy with desire. There were so many different bruises around on Prussia' throat now, their deepening colour almost matching that of his cock. It made Germany acutely aware of his own swollen desire. He entertained the thought of slipping his cock between those chapped lips, putting his brother's too loud mouth to a perfect use.

But not yet. Not while there was still so much fight in Prussia. Although, there were other ways to entertain one self, were there not? 

"You look very good like this," he said, unbuttoning his trousers and zipping down the fly. "So good, I just have to, ah, let go for a little while."

When Prussia tried to turn around and look at him, he forced his head back towards the mirror and quickly slipped out of his trousers. The boots, however, he kept on, liking the extra air of authority they seemed infused with. 

Then he walked around to stand between the chair and the mirror, obscuring the bound nation's image from them both. 

"Look here," Germany ordered, taking himself in hand. 

Prussia did look. When Germany fumbled for the rope leading to the choke collar, he shivered; eyes sliding almost shut in pleasure until he forced them open again, his face hungry.

"You've never been a good nation," Germany told him. "Too rough and rude, everyone always says so."  
He straddled Prussia's legs and slid forward on the sweaty thighs, until they were so close that their breath mingled. With only a little awkwardness, he managed to get a good grip of them together, holding both their cocks in one hand and so Germany began carefully stroking them both.

The moan that drew out of Prussia was splendid to hear and Germany hurried to pull the collar tighter, the rope cutting into his hand while the links of the collar bit his brother's throat. He felt suddenly that he needed release immediately, unless he was to implode on his own pleasure. And he desired nothing so much, as for Prussia to join him here, on the edge of madness. 

"I said," Germany hissed and let his nails scrape against the tender head of Prussia's cock. "Look at me, Brother!"

"Hnng!" Prussia shuddered, thrust into his hand as much as he could and seemed to strain for Germany with his entire body. This desperation and wanting was just how Germany needed him to be. 

The rope was rough and tasted too plastic when he held it between his teeth, but it gave him both hands free to stroke their cocks, to rub and play and pull just right.  
Judging from the frenzied whining this elicited from Prussia, they both liked the same rough grip when masturbating. Or, perhaps, it was just that the added stimulation would have pushed him over the edge, if it hadn't been for one unfortunately placed shoelace. 

He leaned backwards a little more, letting the rope hold most his weight despite the way this made his jaw ache. It was spectacular how it made Prussia's eyes open wide, to see him gasping for air and knowing it was utterly useless. The colour rose quickly on his cheeks, a lovely flush of helpless want and trapped blood.

Germany's hands moved faster, enjoying both the warmth of Prussia's hardness against his and the foreign texture of the shoelace, its slight roughness a tingling contrast compared to all that heated flesh.

Now Prussia was straining forward with his entire body, fighting desperately for air and for release, denied both. 

Germany's eyes closed and his world narrowed, only the hunt for his pleasure mattering. He rutted against his brother, squeezed their cocks together and stroked them hard, faster and faster. The sound of Prussia's choking was music played against his very nerves, each futile gasp striking a ringing chord of lust in Germany. 

The feel of Prussia's bound cock, surely painfully hard by now and rubbing against Germany's unrestrained arousal, left no room for thought. The moment was sensation, need. He bit down on the rope and cut off the very last of the lovely sounds, until he could only feel Prussia quake against him. Then Germany arched backwards, holding on only by the rope around his brother's neck – perfectly tense, perfectly in control.

Like this, forming a bow strung with a frenzied rapture, he finally came. The release tore through him, a storm unlike any he had ever known. When his sticky hands fell aside, they released his own softening cock and Prussia's, still hard, dreadfully unsatisfied one. 

Now Germany felt limp enough to just slide off his brother and go to sleep on the floor. But he managed at least to spit the rope out, then let himself fall forward to rest against the bound body that belonged only to him.

"Bfl-" he tried, almost laughing at how ridiculously mellow he felt. "Brother?"

There was no answer and despite the sated heaviness that filled him, Germany forced himself to lift his head. "Brother?"

The reason that Prussia did not answer became evidently clear the moment he laid eyes on him. 

His head hung limp. Fresh blood trickled from his nose and the unseeing eyes had rolled back to show only the whites. Germany's panicked cry or his hand, still covered in come, slapping Prussia’s face didn't even cause a twitch. His head only flopped in a too limp way. It broke the last of Germany's composure and he began yanking at the chain around Prussia's neck, hardly realising that he was pulling it even tighter. 

When Germany finally managed to loosen the loop, it revealed a deeply bruised ring in the flesh, spotted with blood where the skin had broken from pressure.

"Oh God, oh please Lord, don't!" Germany was halfway sobbing when he lifted Prussia's head, cradling him in trembling hands. "Wake up!" 

No reply. 

He was still struggling to remove the bit, tears blurring his sight, when finally Prussia thrashed weakly in his grip and drew a rattling breath. Against Germany's hands and grateful face, with come and spittle soon smearing them both, he proceeded to nearly cough his lungs out and to breathe. Breathe and live, as beautifully as Germany had never seen him before.

It felt like an eternity before Germany managed to loosen the bridle enough to pull it all the way off Prussia. And while he knew he needed to untie him completely, free his airways and give relief to his heart, Germany found himself unable to move with quite that much coordination yet. He needed just a moment, just one more to hold his brother and feel him shake. He was alive, as he confirmed with each wracking cough, with each gulp of air.

"God," Prussia managed between retching and gasping. "We- West, you're'n ass..."

"I know," he agreed, still not rising but beginning to work on the knots binding Prussia's arms. "I'm sorry, didn't meant to-"  
His voice died. He held on to Prussia, feeling the aftermath of all the intense emotions that would still be burning in him if it hadn't been for the icy shock of seeing Prussia so still.

"Fuck you did," Prussia slurred. "Could've lemme come, ass." He coughed again, shaking in Germany's grip, and the younger nation gently supported his head so that they looked at each other clearly.

"What did you say?" he whispered, not quite believing his ears. 

Prussia looked horrible. The only colour in his face was an almost blue tint to his lips, two fever-bright spots on his cheeks and a growing collection of bruises and wounds. The very shape of his face too; Germany's own worried mien somehow forced above Prussia's sharper features, in what might just be the least flattering combination possible. But still his smile grew slowly. And even with the guilt clawing at his insides, Germany could not read any accusation in his face. 

"Unfair," Prussia whispered. "Greedy little brother." 

One of Germany's hands fell down between them, finding Prussia still half-hard. His touch seemed to bring a new kind of pain alight on the battered face. The smile, though, still remained, even widened. Germany could have wept in gratitude, but only hurried to release him, as he should have minutes ago. 

When he was finished, he had to catch Prussia from toppling forward, since the other had passed out again. He put the chair on its side, untied his legs and very carefully lifted him onto the bed. 

Weary, Germany sat down, his legs unable to carry him even one second once he had put down his burden. He pulled Prussia's head into his lap, needing to feel the living warmth in the other man. And then he waited in silence until Prussia's breathing had shifted into the deep, even sounds of sleep.

Only now could he release the death-grip on the panic he'd known the moment that too-familiar face hung so very still in front of him. Clasping his hands tightly before his eyes, Germany's mind reeled as he saw all the worst possible outcomes of this mad game. 

He's not dead, he told himself. He's not!

But if he had, it would have been by your hands and sick desires, his guilt replied. 

True, they couldn’t die as easily as men. Or they'd have both fallen before bullets and swords years ago. But... There was so little Prussia left, the essence that made him his own nation! And Germany didn’t even know if any other nations indulged in these kinds of things. Or, God help him, if it might make a difference that _he_ had been the one to choke Prussia so.

Worst of all, Germany realised when he wiped his eyes clear and managed to stop trembling, he was nowhere near finished. Not if all this was to achieve something more than an orgasm. 

He stroked the blond hair, missing the usual colourless mess and looked down at the brother he thought he had loved enough to break apart. How in the world was he going to manage now?


	3. Becoming Real

"No, no," Germany repeated for the umpteenth time. "You don't need to come over. Really, it's fine."

He closed his eyes, unable to stop a faint smile as Italy Veneziano continued to natter on on the other side of the phone. The sound of his dearly annoying voice never failed to remind Germany of the warmth of this, his first, friendship. 

"Mhm." He'd long ago learned that it was usually just easier to agree to whatever Italy was saying on the phone and later deny ever having done so if it turned out too embarrassing. 

Germany peeked around the corner where he could just spot the edge of the bed through the open door and on it Prussia’s foot. There was still no movement from his brother but he had a feeling he would wake up soon. Then, he needed to be there for him. 

"Italy." He broke off the stream of words. "I can't talk to you much longer right now- no! You are _not_ allowed to come visit right now!" Germany drew a deep breath and tried to make his voice softer. "However, if you were to agree to it, I would... I would like to come visit you, soon." 

He nodded, and then realized Italy couldn't see it through the phone. "Yes. Yes, I do. Thank you, yes, cannelloni for dinner sounds lovely."

With a few more assurances and a promise that he would show up in no more than three days, Germany managed to end the call. He even remembered to unplug the phone, before he wiped his suddenly sweaty hands on the bathrobe and turned towards the bedroom. 

After the... mishap, he had been unable to stomach the thought of wearing those boots another moment, never mind putting on the trousers again. To stand out in the hall and call Italy for some much-needed reassurance in the nude somehow felt too improper, not to mention cold. Even if the other nation spent half of his time running around naked and had no chance of seeing Germany; it just wasn't done. And right now, Germany wanted to surround himself with all the familiar self-imposed rules he could recall. 

So, bathrobe it was, though he exchanged it for boxers and a tank top before he sat down by Prussia, feeling that fluffy blue cloth did not inspire much respect. 

He'd already cleaned the worst stickiness off Prussia, but now continued to wash him with a soft cloth while he considered his further actions. His careful plan had fallen into shambles when he’d decided to indulge himself and somehow he'd lost control of the entire thing. 

But as long as he didn't do anything more stupidly dangerous, he should be able to improvise. Theoretically. Knowing how good he was at spontaneity, Germany had a sinking feeling that he'd sooner end up beneath Prussia, instead of managing to conquer him as neatly as he had before. 

Beneath the cool cloth, Prussia stirred. Germany kept cleaning him off slowly, now and then stroking his face in silence.

At least, when the tired blue eyes managed to focus on Germany, Prussia affected a shadow of his usual proud smirk.

"Hey..."

"Hello," Germany replied.

"So. Really not a kid any more, huh?" Prussia said, his voice sounding unusually raspy. 

Germany swallowed down a mixture of shame and desire. He wanted– hell, he didn't know what he wanted!

Rather predictably, Prussia began pulling off the dressings around his head. He'd never taken very good care of himself, much to Germany's consternation. He always complained that bandages itched, that his wounds could damn well heal on their own or not at all. Despite that, Prussia was always terribly upset if his younger brother wasn't ready with some first-aid whenever he needed it.

Even now when Germany fussed and helped him remove the wrapping carefully, Prussia's smile deepened and he stretched beneath the ministrations like a great pleased cat. 

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Germany breathed. "I didn't mean for things to..." He saw him again, hanging like the dead in that chair, then sternly closed his mind against the image. "Wasn't supposed to lose control."

"Hn. Good thing we're not proper people or we'd've been pretty fucked. And here I thought you'd studied your shit!" Prussia rasped, but then waved his hand, dismissing the matter. "Forgot you were still 'pure' and 'virginal'. Not much of that left now, eh?"

Germany felt his face burn and bent his head, wishing he were wearing his glasses to hide behind. It was true. He who always prepared so carefully! And now with something so important - fragile - as his brother's continued existence, he had hurried along and almost...

"Hey, hey, what's this, West?" Prussia punched him lightly on the arm, laughing with faint mockery when the nervous man spilled some water on the bed. "C'mon. Thought you'd decided to teach me my place."

They stared at each other, Prussia still with a vaguely superior smirk on his face and Germany almost queasy with nerves. However, something was awakening in him again, something that had tasted Prussia's deepening submission and found it more than pleasing.

"I merely thought," he began, straining to find a properly lofty tone. "That it was too much for you." He stroked the necklace of bruises around that battered neck very softly. The offended frown that statement generated was enough to make even Germany crack a smile. "Guess I ought to know better by now."

"Hell yeah," Prussia groused. "You're 500 years too young to surprise my awesomeness, brat!"

He had to bend down and kiss him then. He felt how chapped Prussia's lips were against his own and enjoyed how they nevertheless yielded softly to him. When he tried to straddle him, though, there was a firm push on his chest and Prussia shook his head. 

"Oh no, West, not _that_ easily."

"Guess that'd be cheating, eh, Brother?" Germany agreed quite placidly. 

The next moment they were struggling. Germany tried to hold down Prussia's arms while the prone nation tried to bite him, hit him and generally make his life miserable. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way, Germany realised. An unaccustomed smile on his face blossomed into a full-grown smirk as he fought on, secure not only in his victory, but also in the rightness of this struggle. 

Perhaps if he hadn't been half-strangled and beaten, he'd have a fair chance. But right now, Prussia couldn't hold out against Germany for more than a short moment. 

When he was properly pinned to the bed and Germany was looming over Prussia's prone body, he could see the beginnings of an erection swell between the other's legs.

"You really like this," Germany marvelled, the realization somehow not growing tangible until he had uttered the words. "I don't..." He paused to kiss the mark left from the chain again, and noted how Prussia angled his head back to give him better access. "Don't really have to force you, do I?" he finished mouthing against the abused flesh.

"I'd say 'force' is kind of the point," Prussia muttered, embarrassment evident in the way he tensed and tried to scoot away from Germany. "If you don't want to, just fuck off."

"Of course I want to." He kissed him again, and rested on him, trapping Prussia with his entire body. "I just meant, you could have _mentioned_ this. Before."

He received only a bitter laugh in reply and Germany rose on his elbows, looking quizzically down at his captive. "What?"

Prussia shrugged as much as he could, with carefully affected nonchalance. "You don't even want to sleep in the same bed."

"I do," he protested. "I, uhm, just had to get used to it."

"How long till you'd 'get used' to it if I'd asked you to beat me up and fuck me silly?"

To that, he had no reply. He knew that not long ago, he would either have berated Prussia for being stink drunk in the middle of the day, or would have attempted grievous bodily harm of the non-erotic variant for such a suggestion. Things had changed a great deal in the last few weeks.

When he considered just how much they had changed, Germany wondered for an uncomfortable moment, how much of this was due to their realization that Prussia's days might be numbered. Or if they were somehow blending together in ways he had not considered before. 

After all if Prussia could struggle awake from guilty dreams about tearing down Poland's wall with a tank when he had been nowhere near the border that day, then why shouldn't Germany come to share some of his brother's more exotic proclivities? 

"It's not that simple," he finally managed when it became apparent that Prussia would lie there stubborn and silent until Germany came up with something. "Look, I know I'm, uh, not as open - or vulgar - about things like this..."

"You were a bloody century-old virgin!" Prussia laughed that caustic, bitter cackle that Germany had never heard until his boss had ordered him to dissolve his land. It made his teeth ache with the wrongness of it and he rued that he had ever brought his little revelation up.

"You don't know fuck about fucking and if you think you can– ! You really think I'm so bloody desperate, I'd ask _you_ for a fuck?" Prussia's rant was interrupted by a coughing fit and Germany held silently, waiting for it to pass until he did anything more. 

When Prussia quieted down, he had mentally collected his arguments. Strangely enough, he found himself somehow almost back on the path he had originally planned. Be solid, he thought, don't react negatively to his anger. Just let him break himself on you.

"I see how this is working," Germany begun. "Even now, you look more like yourself than in several days."

Prussia only snarled and tried to twist out of his grip, and that too, was right. That was his stubborn older brother, too bloody-minded to give up even when he is outmatched. 

"I think you knew, or at least suspected, that it could help," Germany said. "It's... it's like you said: you can't become me. You're not an easy nation to govern, you can't live the same way I do. Your old masters... they all had to tame you, somehow. Didn't they?" 

He faintly remembered Prussia's wild anger when his crown prince had tried to escape from him. But he also knew how that glowing resentment had turned into even brighter devotion as Friedrich began growing up and found his own strength. He grew into a king great enough that even his proud nation fell before him, conquered by the insidious feeling of love.

"I'm sorry I never thought to try this before, or frankly, to understand you much at all," Germany said, hoping that his sincerity shone through in the banal words. He kissed him again, too, just a quick peck on the lips. "I'm sorry that I expected you to be like me, and obey without more reason than how it's what we're supposed to do."

"I fucking tried," Prussia whispered, his face twisted with humiliating memories. "Okay?"

"I know you did."

He had, Germany remembered, even if it had probably helped that most of his orders had involved war and bloodshed. And then just when they came together again, there had been the freshness of it all, the great adventure of capitalism spending. It was only after East and West alike began to fall into the rut of peace and all its own little troubles that the problem grew unmanageable. Slowly, Prussia came to realize that, although the world now held everything money could buy, his resources had not grown infinite. And there was no longer Russia's looming presence to stop him from overspending. It had been the first of many sobering lessons that democracy and free markets brought challenges all of their own. 

Meanwhile, the people of East Germany changed too. Memories of neighbours whispering treason against each other and stark empty stores faded. The past was covered by a nostalgic shimmer, became the time when unemployment wasn't the word on everyone's lips. When their richer brothers and sisters had been on the other side of a near impenetrable wall, out of their reach and thus a little more out of their minds. What he had been, became more East Germany and less Prussia and what he was, well, they still weren't sure about that, now were they?

"But I want you to stay with me, I do!" Germany continued, determined now. "Just as you are. Infuriating, stubborn, selfish, arrogant bastard brother of mine."

Perhaps Prussia wanted to reply. Certainly he'd have some complaints about the epithets he'd been described with, but right now Germany didn't think any of them needed more words. So he kissed him, forcing his arms down. Kissed him more until Prussia opened up beneath him and he could push his tongue inside his mouth and stroke him there, feel all the soft and hard and private places. 

"Up we go," laughed Germany when he broke the kiss, almost giddy with emotions. It wasn't too late! He hadn't ruined everything again; they could still... Oh, they would spend the next hundred years figuring out all they could do!

He dragged the only nominally struggling Prussia along off the bed, towards the box where he'd prepared an assortment of useful things. 

"I'm not letting you put me in that fucking chair again," Prussia informed him with impressive bravado, considering that Germany had locked both his arms behind his back and that his cock had already firmed up quite a bit. 

"No more chairs," Germany promised, unable to resist pressing himself against Prussia's ass and was rewarded with a sharp little hiss. "And no choke-chains either," he continued. 

"Ah..."

Was it his imagination or did Prussia sound a little disappointed by that?  
"Not right now, at least," he amended and smiled against his brother's hair. 

He could have asked for a little cooperation while finding what he wanted in the box, but Germany considered that beneath him. He wasn't at all certain that Prussia would comply either, so he resorted to digging through it with his foot.

Prussia started a little against him when he kicked a hideous old scarf out of the way. Really, what in the world made America think Germany would wear anything with the stars-and-stripes on it? The man's birthday gifts got odder and odder every year.

"Hey, West," Prussia murmured, subtly pulling away from Germany, as far as the grip let him.

"Hmm?" he asked, focusing on finding the correct items. All would become much easier once Prussia was a little, ahem, more restrained.

"About things we don't want to do this time..."

This caught Germany's attention. He stopped digging through the items and simply stood, one foot in the box and one on the floor outside it, holding Prussia captive. He laid his head on Prussia's shoulder, feeling the almost feverish warmth rising off him. Germany sensed that whatever was to come was more important than the search for the elusive handcuffs he'd kept as a souvenir of a short stint in the police force.

"Yes?"

"Just a little thing," Prussia's voice was low, so he had to strain to hear him. Judging from the tilt of his head, he was staring at the flag-patterned scarf on the floor. 

"Excuse me?" 

"I said," Prussia raised his voice a little, still only barely at the volume of a whisper. "That perhaps we could save the blindfolds till another time too." 

Germany was nodding against his shoulder, yes. Right now, he wanted to see every change in Prussia's appearance and a blindfold would obscure far too much.

"Maybe... Maybe we could even save it for a much later time. It's one of those things that have to do with Lud-" He bit the word off and Germany didn't need to see him to know how his face reddened in shame, how he bit his lip and cursed himself for being an idiot again. 

Never reveal any weakness, never admit any fault even when the world is laughing at your foolishness. He'd long known is brother's unofficial motto.

"Absolutely. I much prefer to see how you react," Germany promised, acting as if he hadn't heard the use of his other name. He took the risk to bring up a hand and turn Prussia's head around, just a little, so he could kiss the edge of those sweetly abused lips. 

"Besides, I'd never think to inflict that monstrosity on you. Just used it to wrap some stuff in," he lied, squeezing Prussia's shoulder in comfort.

"I just like to see what's coming," Prussia admitted. Germany hated the way he had to force the words out, hated how it reminded him of every report of a loss or retreat he'd ever heard from Prussia. As if it was weak, somehow to admit that while you didn't mind your brother strangling you to the point of unconsciousness, you weren't comfortable leaving yourself blind while in his power.

He kept one hand on Prussia's wrists, though they both knew this was mostly a symbolic grip, and wrapped the other around his stomach, pulling him closer. Luckily, his foot felt the cold of the handcuffs just then and Germany grabbed them with his toes, managing to hang them on the edge of the box in a display of hitherto unknown feet-agility.

"How about these?" he asked while pressing Prussia down, so they were both kneeling next to the box.

The sneer was almost audible. "Better then that fuzzy shit that's in all your porn mags."

"Very goo– since when do you know what kind of magazines I read?"

"Haha! Since you began stashing them under your bed, loser," he said, snorting in contempt. "That's like the first place anyone would look! Hell, even Italy found your smut!"

"You'll pay for reminding me of that time," Germany threatened. He quickly grabbed the cuffs then locked them tight around Prussia's wrists, trying to squash the memories of that embarrassing revelation of his private interests to the whole bloody world.

"Promises, promises," Prussia sang teasingly. "But can you actually deliver? Oof!" 

When Germany threw him to the floor and held him down with only one hand against his neck, Prussia still had the gall to attempt a mocking laugh. No wonder he remained such a brat, if he reacted like this every time someone tried to spank some sense into him. Still, Germany couldn't want to try that too and see for himself what it felt like. 

"Actually," Germany said and bent down closer to Prussia. "You just reminded me of something from the past I do want to know." His hand closed around the third and final item he'd been searching for and Germany's smile widened a smidge. He was glad to notice how Prussia's laughter trickled away once he caught his expression. 

"When exactly did this start?"

"What?"

"This," Germany said, gesturing with the old wooden ruler he'd also dug out to Prussia and himself. "Your interests. Or, more specifically," he kissed Prussia's hair, noting with pleasure that it was definitely more grey than blond again. "Who was the first who dared treat you like this? I can't imagine all your bosses had the pleasure."

Despite his coaxing, and the teasing touches he brushed along his brother's sex to hint at what his reward could be, Prussia refused to answer. Something he did not want to reveal, then? It only made Germany all that more determined to find out.

"Let's get you on the bed," he whispered, dragging his naked and suddenly very heavy brother along. 

Prussia still refused to meet his eyes when he was manhandled to lie on his back, but for the moment, Germany wasn't bothered. He'd return to that issue soon enough. Right now, though, he wanted to secure him better. As before, he turned to familiar nylon rope. When he began winding the rope around Prussia's legs, the other woke from his stubborn sulk and tried to kick him. 

"Now, now," Germany said, trying for a friendly tone until Prussia's knee managed to hit him in the face. He glared at the madman whom he had the misfortune to share blood with and the madman grinned back, living up to his reputation. Having had enough sillyness for now, Germany abandoned all semblance of gentleness. He quickly subdued Prussia with two well-placed punches to his midriff and forced his right leg closer to his body, until he could bind it tightly in a bent position, calf against thigh. While he was busy with that, Germany simply sat on the other knee. As he began to work on the second leg, he happily ignored Prussia's loud protests that he wasn't a damn turkey to be trussed up like this!

When he had finished, Prussia's legs were bound in a kneeling position, and Germany hauled him up, not bothering to be gentle. Not bad, he thought, liking the contrast of coarse blue rope against glimpses of pale skin. The way Prussia cursed and tried to open his legs, to no avail, was also quite attractive. Best of all, Germany noticed with a smirk, his cock had firmed up quite properly by now, and stood eager and shameless between the bound legs. It felt good to touch it, even better when Prussia coughed and tried to turn his head away, clearly torn between embarrassment and lust.

"See," he told him. "I warned you to remind me of that mess. The Allies didn't quite tie me like this back then, but," he licked his lips and grabbed a third length of rope, "close enough to count."

"What are you doing?" Prussia strained with all his might, but was helpless when Germany began to work on the ropes around his right leg. 

On purpose he'd left one loop on each leg slightly looser than the others. Like this, it was possible to slip the new length inside it, anchoring the rope with a good knot. At once, he had a fine leash to pull on when he wanted to control the movement of the bound legs. 

A good thing he had watched so many of those 'educational' videos through the years. There were so many creative things he wanted to try for himself!

"Just making sure you'll not interrupt me again," Germany huffed, pulling the cord over the kneeling man's back and then through the second loop. Now, the length of rope ran from thigh to thigh, over Prussia's back. All it took was some well-applied pressure to his brother's back, a little firm pulling on the rope and Germany had forced the other man forward so that he was lying almost flat between his spread legs.

"I don't _like_ interruptions," he finished, wrapping the leftover rope a few times around Prussia's hands and finishing the whole thing off with his best bow. 

He waited a few heartbeats while Prussia struggled with the ropes, but proved unable to rise from his prone, almost-kneeling position or to slide out of the bondage in any way. Good. Perfect, in fact. 

It was so easy for him to flip his brother over and - ah, now wasn't that a lovely scream of embarrassed fury! Germany felt his lust increase as he watched Prussia struggle with the realisation that he was completely bared and defenceless.

"Shit!" Prussia growled, as the understanding of just how vulnerably he was spread open set in. Not to mention, seeing how much the other enjoyed his predicament. "West, you fucking ass!"

The image he presented surpassed every one of Germany's expectations. In this position, Prussia's cock and balls were perfectly in the centre of the V-shape his bound legs formed. Germany's eyes quite naturally found themselves returning there again and again, as did his curious hands. He loved the way Prussia's feet would twitch, his toes curling and flexing cutely, every time Germany stroked him there; the rest of him an exquisite composition in power restrained. The hands captured beneath his body forced him to keep his back arched, so that every muscle in his ass and stomach was drawn wonderfully taught. His nipples made a fine image too, Germany thought as he bent to taste them, the bruising around them kaing them seem almost embarrassed at poking out like that. 

Prussia shuddered beneath him when he bit them carefully and then he whimpered softly, as Germany let a curious finger stroke along the crack of his ass. Hearing that sound, he wasted no time before parting the fleshslightly, taking a quick peek at Prussia's opening, very gently petting him there with a finger.

He could see himself spending a long time admiring Prussia's futile struggle, enjoying how the the rope bit into his legs with ever more severe beauty. How glad Germany felt now, that he'd only found this rough rope. Tomorrow, he would have to spend at least an hour examining the burns it had left on Prussia; burns, he was certain, that would be liberally spread all over his legs and back considering how much he fought right now.

"I like this," Germany admitted. "You have no idea just how much."

Although, if Prussia could see the erection tenting Germany’s boxers, he ought to be able to give a fair estimate. There was just something about having Prussia this helpless and _bared_ in front of him, that made Germany's cock throb with expectation. 

For the moment, though, he kept himself under strict control. Kept exploring Prussia, played a little with his balls and squeezed his cock. He moved in between the bound legs, to lick at his navel, tease the stomach with sloppy kisses and sharp little bites, then traced the scars upwards until he could suck on the delicious nubs of his nipples. 

Again and again, however, Germany found his fingers returning to that most secret place. He discovered that he loved to tickle the puckered hole and watch Prussia's face go from slack pleasure to acute embarrassment. 

"Now then," he admonished and pulled off his tank top, desiring the feel of skin against skin again. "Please, share abit of wisdom with your curious little brother..."

He knelt between Prussia's legs almost giddy with excitement at how this made him practically loom over his brother. Slowly, but very firmly, he pressed his clothed erection against Prussia's ass. 

His brother's mouth fell open in a lovely 'oh' that was almost as tempting as his nether opening, and Germany had to steady himself against one bound leg. The added pressure on already strained joints forced a further groan out of Prussia and Germany heard himself answer in turn. God, he wanted him so fucking much!

"Who began this," he finally managed, pulling back slightly. "Who was the first?"

Prussia shook his head, still not inclined to answer. So, with a mocking smile he could damn well feel originally belonged to Prussia, Germany reached for the wooden ruler. 

It had been his, long ago. He'd used it in his studies as a young nation. Later, he had tried to measure out his own borders and country with this very ruler and it had still been with him when he went to work in brand new factories that would help catapult his country to new heights of economical power. 

But it also achingly reminded him of the years he had stayed with Austria. The stern aristocrat had used an almost identical ruler whenever he considered his charge as having slacked off during piano lessons. Germany's hands still smarted at the memory and he almost winced in anticipation when he brought the flexible piece of wood back. But heft it he did, without revealing any doubts. No doubts when he brought it down against Prussia's ass either; a smart, efficient move without hesitation but with as much force as he could muster.

"AAOOOW!" Prussia's howl echoed through the house and Germany almost dropped the ruler in surprise. His brother was always loud, true, but he hadn't quite expected such a vocal reply. 

"Shush," he tried. "What's that to complain about, really?" Then he smacked Prussia again. 

There were already two red marks on his butt, looking surprisingly good there. Germany wondered faintly if Austria had ever found enjoyment in abusing a poor teenager's hands because they were more suited to hunt or build than to compose symphonies. If he had enjoyed it, Germany decided, he might have to kill him just a little. Especially if it meant that he had been made to suffer an additional amount of those horrible music lessons.

" _You're_ not allowed to spank me," Prussia screeched, twisting his head uselessly. " _I'm_ your big brother!"

"Ah, but you're the one who taught me," Germany retorted and smacked him again, trying to hold his wrist a bit looser. Yes, that felt much better.

"I never hit you!" Prussia protested. 

They both knew that was a blatant lie, even if Prussia never actually spanked him. He'd stuck to fists and swords on the training ground instead, scheduling gruelling practice rounds if Germany annoyed him too much. Musket practice with an upset Prussia had been particularly 'fun', Germany recalled. That memory spurred him to deliver a few extra rapid smacks. 

"Doesn't matter," Germany stated. "You also taught me not to give up. Now, Brother, spill your secrets or continue suffering." 

He suddenly had a brilliant idea and paused a little, stroking the tender flesh. Prussia seemed to be in quite the sorry state, now that his bottom was turning cheerily red. It complemented the fresh bruises on his torso and neck, as well as his lovely, hard cock. The only thing that was a bit off-putting to Germany was his swollen nose, ruining the otherwise balanced composition of misery on his face. On the other hand, Prussia always looked fine when he bled, so he'd have to consider it a necessary sacrifice. 

"Unless, you'd rather I guess and you confirmed?" 

Bared teeth and a stubborn growl was his only response, but Germany was pleased to note how Prussia's eyes widened as he grabbed the ruler again. He managed to keep the noise down now at least, though the strain made him flinch every time a smack landed on his ass. 

The way his cock bounced a little with every hit amused Germany so much, that he began flicking a finger against it now and then. This entertainment rewarded him twice over, since Prussia hissed and clenched his eyes shut every time his sensitive sex was teased. Wicked as it was, it had the additional benefit that Germany swore he could _see_ the bound body reform every time Prussia closed his eyes. He was becoming just a little more his brother, and with that all the more delectable. 

The position, unfortunately, wasn't optimal to work in. Germany soon felt his arm beginning to tire. A shame he'd barely brought an even glow to the skin yet, but it would have to do for now. Although, there was always room for a few lastminute touches.

Germany's nails weren't very long, but he was certain that they were enough to sting when he scraped them down Prussia's ass, trying to find the reddest of the marks left by the ruler. Prussia certainly seemed to think so, as he cussed loudly and angrily the entire time. 

Finally, Germany considered this particular form of abuse taken as far as he wanted to for now. He pushed himself against his brother, loving the feel of his cock poking him in the stomach, and kissed him all around the face. The lips, alas, he had to avoid since Prussia was eager for revenge. A stern grip around his jaw kept him from biting long enough to enjoy Germany's tenderness.

"Do you recognize this?" Germany finally asked, once Prussia had stilled a little and lay helplessly panting beneath him.

He held up the third item he had taken from his little box of surprises, the one he had made carefully certain to hide from Prussia's view at all times. He'd had a suspicion that it would be a fine thing to observe his brother's reaction at its surprise reveal and didn't want to spoil anything beforehand.

It had certainly surprised _him_ a great deal to find it in a bucket of assorted screws and bolts while cleaning his workroom. At first he'd just thrown the lid back on it and tried to forget it existed. Once he'd stopped blushing, though, Germany couldn't help but wonder just how Prussia used the little appliance. Or how he looked while using it. 

The bullet-shaped vibrator was small and grey, the main device attached to an equally neutrally coloured control with a simple cord. It oughtn't have made Prussia look quite so devastated that Germany had found it, although he supposed he couldn't really blame him.  
Germany recalled how he had considered throwing himself in front of a passing tank division when someone (or rather, the _entire bloody world_ ) found out what he liked to do in the privacy of his own bedroom. 

"Would you believe me, if I said it's not mine?" Prussia tried weakly, his toes again curling in abject misery. Cute. 

Germany shook his head in cheerful reply, loving every second of Prussia's obvious consternation. 

"Thought so." He let his head fall back and clenched his eyes shut. "Fuck this. FUUUCK!"

"Come now, we both know you wouldn't have kept it unless you liked it."  
Germany released his victim for a moment, reaching beneath the bed until he felt the jar of lube he kept around for when he wanted to have some extra fun on his own. He consider the disguise; the lube was in a jar marked hair wax, as rather clever. At least no curious Italians or bratty brothers seemed to have found it.

"Uh, you're not gonna put your pomade up my ass, are you?" Prussia asked with hint of alarm. Had he not been so firmly bound, Germany was certain that he would have tried to crawl out of the bed; as it was, he could only strain to close his legs. 

"Of course not," Germany sighed. Really, sometimes he wondered if he was surrounded by idiots. And then, at times like these, he knew he was.

"Hng!" His brother screwed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth and seemed to tremble in counterpoint to the vibrations of the little pleasure-bullet buried in his ass. Germany watched in rapidly growing fascination, as his slightest change in intensity reflected beautifully on Prussia. He could move very little in the careful bondage Germany had put him in, but he somehow undulated beneath the ropes, threw his head from side to side whenever Germany pushed the control to the maximum setting. 

"I thought you'd be used to this," Germany murmured, feeling almost breathless with amazement. God, but Prussia looked beautiful! One of his hands had, somehow completely without his conscious input, found its way into his boxers and he stroked himself rapidly.

"Used it... very... sparingly! Ah!" Prussia's entire body tensed when another spike of pleasure shot through him. "God in heaven, show a little mercy!" he gasped once he found his voice again.

"Not me anymore," Germany said, showing both hands briefly. "It's got a 'random' setting."

He laughed as his brother gave voice to his misery, feeling almost drunk from the beauty Prussia showed him when the buzzing grew sharper again. It was art, somehow, perfect suffering. When he shook his head frantically, the now purplish colour of his eyes almost completely swallowed by huge pupils, Germany groaned with barely held-back need. In reply, the most exquisite little wail escaped Prussia, before he clench his mouth shut, apparantly refusing to completely lose control over his traitorous body. 

Eager for more contact, Germany sat behind Prussia and pulled him close, so that the bound arms pressed into his stomach. Like this, if he tilted the head backwards, Germany could reach his face for all those kisses and bites he needed to give him. At the same time, he could also, finally touch both of them. With Prussia's neck remaining bent to accept his kisses, Germany's hands were free. Shimmying out of his underwear, he finally allowed himself to stroke his own long-suffering cock. Now and then, he switched around and teased Prussia with alternating light touches or a firmer squeeze.

"You're not going to come before I let you, hmm?" he asked when it seemed as if the excitement was beginning to get to Prussia a little too much.

The other man's mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, before he managed to find the words. "What would you, ahh, would-"

He broke off as the whine of the vibrator became more high-pitched again, panting with the intensity of it until Germany was frankly tempted to just pull the damn thing out and replace it with his cock, fuck plans and objectives. 

"Do?" Prussia at long last managed to get out.

"If you came?" he asked, squeezing his own cock firmer as he imagined the moment. 

Prussia nodded, whimpering when the buzz of the vibrator sped up again.

"Hmm." Germany made a show of considering it, thoughtfully tapping his finger against Prussia's cock. "Maybe I'd just, oh, leave? There's fresh batteries in this thing, you know."  
He abandoned Prussia's arousal in favor of fumbling around between them until he found the cord trailing out of his ass. Almost trembling with excitement, Germany pulled it, just a tiny little motion and felt his brother jerk as if he'd taken hold of naked nerves instead. Lovely.

"Fucker," Prussia half-sobbed. "You sadistic fuck!"

"Mm, but you love it."

There was really nothing Prussia could say to that and soon Germany lost interest in speaking as well; enough to touch and fondle everywhere. To kiss his captive and stroke himself, until he had to grasp his own balls in an almost painful grip, had to pull and fight to hold back the orgasm. When Prussia's head stayed lolled back against his shoulder and he could see his breath come in shallow little gasps, he knew that unless he wanted to realize his threat, a break was acutely needed for both of them.

When he turned off the vibrator, Prussia protested, whining and rocking his body against Germany. He quieted only when Germany stuck two fingers into his mouth, sucking hard at them instead. 

The younger nation tried to stop imagining what he could put there instead of fingers, and groaned in agonized pleasure, struggling for whatever remained of his self-discipline. 

"Now," Germany finally managed, withdrawing his hands from that tempting mouth and resting it on Prussia's stomach, tantalizingly close to his swollen cock. "Tell me, who bega-"

"No!" Prussia shook his head, twisting and cursing wildly. "Won't!"

He'd promised himself not to do this again. Promised to not try anything so dangerous until he'd learned more, had better control. But at that first fierce no, Germany found his hand moving up towards Prussia's vulnerable throat again. It was– It was just so right. Judging from how Prussia keened beneath his fingers, he wasn't the only one who felt so.

"I _will_ hear it," Germany promised, finding that his hand fit far too well for comfort. He didn't apply pressure yet, but took a firm grip, made his brother arch even further backwards. 

It too looked beautiful, his hand resting against the earlier bruises, as dangerous and titillating as a polished sword. And now, how lovely, he could feel a small flutter of a pulse beneath his fingers. Not strong enough to be healthy for a grown nation, no, but there - alive - in a way Prussia’s body had previously not felt; just as the crimson was flooding out of the depths of his eyes and drowning out the blue that was Germany's. Like his body too had grown sharper and more defined, less an imitation, during their entire encounter.

"Guess you need some more convincing," he murmured, and grabbed the controller in his other hand. It was good to wait a few seconds, to rest his finger on the switch and see worried anticipation war with stubbornness on Prussia's face. 

When the tension almost drove him mad, and Prussia surely doubly so, Germany turned the vibrator on again. He flicked the little wheel controlling the intensity up to max in one fast movement, unable to hold back a sound of aggressive lust as he saw his brother's reaction.  
His cock was the first to reveal him jerking with the renewed stimulation. Though his face was frozen in a stubborn grimace, Prussia was unable to hide his deep flush and soon he was trembling in Germany's arms. 

Every detail was fascinating to Germany's eyes. Every line on his face told of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. They seemed to carve away the false image that had covered him, so that with every shuddered breath more and more of Prussia was revealed. 

His hand found one of Prussia's nipples. When he grasped the helpless piece of flesh, when he _twisted_ until Prussia was screeching in his arms, he had to close his eyes to stop himself from losing all control. 

"I can't," Prussia almost sobbed. "I can't, ahhh, West!"

It took but a moment to grasp his cock, form a ring with his fingers and squeeze, firmly closing off the pleasure that threatened to take control of Prussia.

"You can," Germany whispered in his ear, voice all gentle encouragement while his hands continued their merciless torture. All the while, the vibrator buzzed and whined. 

He shook his head again, trembling all over. But as Germany began to tell him how strong he was, how much he admired his older brother who feared nothing and no one, Prussia's protests stilled until he was only mouthing 'no' over and over again.

Suddenly, Germany flicked off the vibrator. The body in his arms was racked with spasms as Prussia struggled, though he wasn't certain if it was to get away from him or to not come as that painfully intense sensation had stopped. Whatever the reason, he gave him a few moments to compose himself, careful not to touch. His hands stayed close, though. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin and letting him bask in the tantalizing scent of Prussia's arousal.

"Did your dear Fritz, did he ever see you like this?" he breathed finally.

Prussia shook his head, searching for words. "T- touch me?" he whispered, sighing deeply when Germany's hand immediately wrapped around his cock. 

"Tell me," Germany coaxed. "I know you loved him so much."

"He wasn't." Prussia bit his lip and somehow managed to press back even more against Germany, who hurried to squeeze him tight, using both his legs and his unoccupied arm. It felt important to hold, to shelter Prussia right now, make him realize he wasn't alone. He felt one of Prussia's hands press against his stomach, fingers digging in so deeply that he was bound to have scratches tomorrow. He would treasure them, he knew, because they showed that his brother was finally beginning to seek support from him. 

Haltingly, with many pauses and mumbles, Prussia told him of his love for Fritz. Of the one man who had never needed to use force to tame him, because the strength of his personality alone had made Prussia ache to kneel before him, to worship and adore. The king had loved his nation back almost as fervently as he was loved, and had been happy to share pleasure with the incarnation of the lands and people he was ruling. 

"But he wasn't," Prussia whispered, turning his head as much as possible, trying to bury his burning face against Germany. 

He hadn't been interested in these kinds of games, the beloved king. Had even found Prussia's admission slightly disturbing and worried about what it might imply for the country. And so Prussia had laughed it all off and turned to the battlefield to quench his more violent desires. 

To be wounded in service of his Fritz, he admitted in a near breathless whisper, was nothing short of ecstasy. Each wound burned with pain and pleasure, the thrill of fighting against a true enemy only heightening the fever in his blood. 

"And after a battle, he would be, he would look at _me_ ," Prussia moaned, trying to thrust against Germany's hand. "Instead of those fucking Frenchmen! He'd call me his most beloved and I, I just wanted him to keep looking at me! I was his, I'd do anything..."

Prussia accepted the comforting kisses now, gratefully opening for Germany. It felt to him as if Prussia tried to drown himself in these sensations, to forget the memories and the hurt he still carried. 

"For him, as long as he was happy, anything..."

"You did make him happy," Germany said.. "All the time, every day." He hugged him gently, feeling that the nation in his arms could shatter so quickly with the wrong word. "Everyone could see that, even I."

"Failed his memory." Prussia's whisper was sharp like broken glass, and Germany knew it still cut his brother deeply. "Lost everything he'd fought for."

"I thought you gave it to me, so that I could take care of it," Germany tried, never once stopping his comforting touches all over Prussia's body. Listen to me, he begged, listen to my hands and my body if you cannot hear my words. "You told me, remember? You promised to help me grow into the strongest."

"But we lost," Prussia said, voice shaking with pain. "We lost! They took away _my name_ and, and I shouldn't have let them! Not the name of his kingdom!"

Germany shook his head; he'd spent so many miserable years wrestling with this before, he had finally come to terms with it. As the seeds of peace sprouted in the hearts of his people, Germany had changed with them. At long last, he had seen the contrast between what he'd told himself he was building and what he was, in reality, tearing apart. 

"No. We were already lost then," he told Prussia, knowing it down to his bones that this was the truth. "We just hadn't realised it. It hurt more than anything I can remember to see everything fall apart, but..." Germany licked his lips and admitted a secret he'd carefully guarded during many years. Perhaps, he thought, some of this could have been avoided if he'd only dared to tell the truth to his other half.

"When they came to end it, when they broke me down with tanks and bomb raids and troops that hated the very soil they trampled, hated what I'd become... it hurt so fucking much. Brother, it hurt so much that I can't understand how we ever survived it." 

He pressed a hand over the silence where he should have felt Prussia's heart beating strong and steady and shuddered at the memory. His brother rubbed his head against him and Germany gratefully took solace in those lips, knowing that here was the only other soul in the world that could begin to know his pain.

Against Prussia's lips he whispered it, the truth he had guarded for so many years  
"But it felt like they were freeing me, too, Brother. It felt like I could breathe again. I cried back then, over our losses. But at least a little, I cried from gratitude." 

He stroked him gently, touching the bound legs, even now marvelling at how much his proud brother let him take. "There's freedom in giving in, sometimes. I think you know that?"

"Yes," Prussia breathed.

"Give in to me," Germany begged. "Let me break you and remake you into something better than you are. Like I was remade when I had lost my way so badly I didn't even realize it anymore." He cupped his face. "After all, I care about you much more than the Allies ever cared for me."

And Prussia smiled and bent his head. Though he didn't speak, Germany heard his reply clear as day.

"Thank you," he whispered as he laid Prussia on his back. "Oh, Brother, thank you."

He was almost returned to him again; familiar wicked face, the tousled mop of white hair so achingly dear to Germany. How had he never noticed before that Prussia's teeth where just a little too sharp for comfort? That even now, when his mouth was open in a slack moan, they looked like tiny weapons? When had he forgotten how strong these arms were?  
He'd begun to see only the thinness of his body, had looked down at Prussia from his comforting, adult height and forgotten what lay behind all those pale scars. Forgotten, how his wiry muscles had held a hungry world at bay while Germany grew into his own strength.

The little plastic bullet that could cause such intense pleasure looked too innocuous when he slipped it out of Prussia; even such a small sensation making him shudder. Germany loved it, this proof of how sensitive Prussia was, of how close he must be now. It was with something resembling guilt that he got up to find that useful shoelace. Still, when he tied it around the root of Prussia's cock again, he did so efficiently and with no show of mercy. He owed it, after all, to return these gifts with one of equal purity. 

There were no words of protest, no pleas from Prussia, though he winced and whined lowly as the lace tightened around his swollen flesh. Germany kissed the tip, hoping to sooth him slightly. But, given the hitch in Prussia's breath, he thought the gesture had the opposite effect. Even so, he continued to lap at his sex, while spreading more slickness over his fingers and beginning to open him up for something larger than the little vibrator. 

"I need you," Germany admitted, before taking one of Prussia's balls into his mouth, loving the sensation of the sensitive globe in his mouth, especially together with the warmth surrounding two of his fingers. 

"I want to feel you," whispered against his flesh. "Everywhere, I want to make you _mine_."  
He scissored his fingers apart, listening for every variation of sound Prussia made. When Germany's tongue played over the smooth head of his cock, his breath would grow shallow and fast. If he instead curled his fingers just so, pressed without mercy against that secret place inside, Prussia would groan so deeply it seemed to shake his entire being. 

"Here, too," he promised and poked his tongue at the little slit, tasting the beginning of pleasure that had leaked out.  
"Promise I'll read up on it _very_ carefully and then..." he lifted his head for a moment and made sure to catch Prussia's eyes before slipping a third finger inside his ass.  
"Then I'll touch you there too." He teased Prussia’s cock with his tongue, knowing that he would never get enough of his brother again. "Inside. You've never been touched there before, have you?"

Wide-eyed, Prussia shook his head a fraction. That was enough for Germany, enough confirmation and agreement both.  
"I'll do everything either of us can imagine to you," he said tenderly as his hand tirelessly worked to loosen Prussia further. "And you'll see how much I need you."

"Need you too," Prussia whispered. An odd smile covered his face. With eyes half-lidded from pleasure and cock so hard it must surely be painful by now, he looked irresistible to Germany. 

"Do you think," he began, only to have Prussia nod with great enthusiasm, almost before the words were out of him. "Tell me." He knelt between Prussia's legs, pulling him closer and leaning over him. "Tell me you need me."

"West," his brother moaned. "West, please. _You_!"

Germany pressed against the hot opening, biting his lip against the pleasure that threatened to engulf him at the mere thought of what he was about to do.  
"Again," he grunted, stalling for time and reaching for the tattered remains of his self-control. "Beg!"

And Prussia did, finally pleading without hesitation. Begged for Germany to fuck him, to take him, do anything, anything he wanted he'd give him if he'd just please, please take him now.

When Germany finally drove into him, one smooth stroke into that well-prepared opening, it pulled a wild cry of pleasure out of Prussia's throat. He was answered in turn when Germany yelled above him, overwhelmed by the sensation of Prussia's flesh surrounding him, every movement almost smothering his cock in unbearable pleasure. 

It took all of Germany's control to stop for a moment and check that Prussia was not in unwanted pain. When the enthusiastic babble and eager body dispelled the last doubts about that, he reached his arms forward, until he could hold his brother's face in a clumsy grip. 

For one, two, three heartbeats they just watched each other, each feeling the anticipation build until they couldn’t possibly resist and then Germany moved. He couldn't bear pulling back from Prussia more than necessary, had to drive deeper and deeper into him with every thrust. He moved against the bound body as if he wanted to split it in two, cursing and screaming mindlessly as he felt Prussia's tight heat clench so around him, as he felt him arch in his bonds and moan in complete abandon of everything that was control.

They had waited so long and he needed it so much, that Germany felt the unavoidable pulsing heaviness deep in his balls far too soon. To hold back, however, was unthinkable and so, after only a few more thrusts, the pleasure overwhelmed him completely. 

He came screaming, nails digging deep groves in Prussia's cheeks and felt him scream in reply beneath his hands. Germany came deep inside his brother with such force that white lights flashed before his eyes and he could not even draw enough breath to sustain the cry of pleasure throughout his orgasm.

His release left him boneless and tired again, so wonderfully sated. Only te hunger in him that craved endless control was keeping him awake, not satisfied until he'd seen Prussia shattered as he had just felt himself break.

To rest, however, was not an option yet because Prussia was still unsatisfied, his cock almost angrily red and his entire body shaking from frustration.

"Please," he cried, tears staining his cheeks and mingling with the blood that Germany had drawn when he came. "Please, please, West!"

All of his being was begging for release. As Germany moved to pull out, he thought that if he could only hold Prussia there, helplessly on the edge for another moment, he would soon join him in renewed arousal because this sight of him was splendid beyond words. Germany breathed deeply, trying to stop the world from spinning around him and managed to lay a finger on Prussia's lips. 

"Not just yet," he said tenderly, loving the complaining wail this brought, knowing that he was already hopelessly addicted to the frustrated cries. 

Germany swore as he realized that the knots were pulled tight and he'd forgotten to bring a knife. Right now, he'd prefer to give away his right arm before leaving Prussia alone. Imagining Prussia's face in the last stages of pleasure gave him the needed energy, and when Germany pulled with all his strength, the ropes thinned and slowly began to tear, blue fibers snapping one by one. At last, he had freed Prussia's limbs, although he left the rope remains wrapped around his flesh for now, enjoying the visual reminder. 

Though he had not freed Prussia's cock, nor his cuffed hands, the other man threw himself at Germany as soon as his legs were free. He was panting wildly and could barely hold himself up, but still rutted eagerly against his leg.

"Not so," Germany told him, in a soft but very determined tone. His tiredness was ebbing much faster usual and he thought with some slight amusement that Prussia was lucky he hadn't just fallen asleep as he usually did after a wank. Not that he'd be left alone long enough for that.

He pulled Prussia along until they were on the edge of the bed. Here, he pulled him onto his lap in a mirror of the position they'd had on the chair before, grabbing a few pillows for support.

Like this, leaning back slightly with Prussia sitting on his tights, he could kiss him to his heart's desire. A bit of manoeuvring and Germany could slip his fingers back inside of Prussia, his opening slick with lube and come. He curled his fingers, delighting in how it caused the other man to shudder. Inspired, he groped around on the bed until he found the naughty little toy again.

The sound his brother made when he felt the cool plastic of toy enter him again was unbearably sweet to Germany's ears. Not a complaint, not a protest, merely a deep sound between a sob and a moan. An acknowledgement that though he could not take it, that though he was dissolving in frustrated pleasure, Prussia would accept whatever Germany put him through – and he would love it. It was everything Germany had longed to hear.

"Tell me," he ordered, kissing Prussia and tasting the salty tears on his lips. "Of your former masters."

He pulled Prussia against him, loving that he was so limp and heavy in all places but one. His brother seemed unable to stop weeping, even as he responded eagerly to the probing fingers. He shifted on Germany's lap, trying to find some friction and eventual release for his bound cock; the entire display so captivating that Germany felt his own erection slowly coming back.

And finally, exhausted and shattered, Prussia spoke. A rambling and half-incoherent tale spilling out of him, old Latin and wartime slang mixing into something no one but his younger brother could understand. He spoke of the men who had owned him, of those bosses who had found this secret way to make him irrefutably theirs and it was a story far grimmer than Germany had ever expected.

"Th– The Grand Master," he sobbed against Germany's shoulder. "Was the first."  
His voice disappeared in a desperate keening when he was rewarded by Germany turning on the little vibrator lodged inside his ass.

"Which one?"

"Just after we were driven from the Holy Land," Prussia admitted, and at those words Germany's stomach twisted. 

Though the nation that became Prussia had existed as one of Germania's children for many years before he set out to gather his own people, Germany could still not imagine that the young Teutonic Knight had been more than - what, ten or twelve? Too young a child for these kinds of games, definitely.

He gathered him close, finding the cuffed hands and covered them with one of his own while Prussia shook in his arms. But he continued talking and every word made Germany feel colder and colder. He almost regretted asking– would have, if it hadn't been because he felt stronger than ever that he needed to take his brother's secrets and make them his own.

The first Grand Master had been proud to receive a youthful nation, seeing in him an opportunity for greatness. And, indeed, with the arrival of the child who'd taken the name Teutonic Knight, there formed a group of German knights around them who had greater dreams than protecting pilgrims and tending to the wounded in their hospital. 

"But we lost," Prussia admitted. It seemed to Germany as if these words lay, always, at the bottom of his misery. As if Prussia had to punish himself for all time, for each and every one of his failures, until the regrets had almost torn apart that which made him himself.

They'd lost, been driven out with the other Christian forces from the Holy Land. Though they had set their sights on the east of Europe, in the eyes of at least one man their holy mission had failed. Their pride degraded, they had seemed little more than a mercenary band among others, though still one possessing a young nation dreaming of greatness. So had Prussia been when they'd left for Hungary, where he would again attempt to win a land of his own.

And his then Master? He had been much displeased. 

"I'm sorry, West. I failed, even when I tried and _fucking tried_ , but I couldn't!" Prussia whispered against him, finally admitting the fear that followed him everywhere, apologizing for its mere existence. "Couldn't keep them away, couldn't win."

Germany almost wanted to break off, but found himself unable to do so either. He had begun this, hadn't he, for a reason? But it was so hard to recall that reason when Prussia was shaking in his arms, hurting as he had not even seen during their worst years together. And there was nothing he could do, except offer his touch. Try to sooth one who refused to be comforted, try to distract with physical pleasure from these ancient wounds that had sunk into Prussia's very soul.

Then one night, while the Teutonic Knight was praying for strength in a hastily erected chapel, his boss confronted him. Accused him of being the ultimate source of their failures, questioned his reason for existing if he could not even do God's work and, finally, swore to punish him until he repented.

He had agreed eagerly, the child, promising to show unwavering strength and devotion, to bear any punishment.

"He flogged me," Prussia whispered and there was a hint of madness in his glossy eyes, in the way he could not stop pressing against Germany, moving with the rhythm of the vibrator inside of him. Their mingled harsh breathing filled the room, until the whole world had narrowed down to only them, together on this bed.

"Hurt me, he hurt me so good."

He had beaten him with a knotted whip to drive the sin out of his body, his boss. Then laid the child over his lap, spanked his bare buttocks until the young Teutonic Knight had been squirming in pain and humiliation. And, as they had both discovered when he spilled his seed for the first time, with something else too.

Something that the man had used - cruelly, selfishly, in Germany's mind, although Prussia didn't appear to see it in the same light.

His boss had disrobed and there, on a cold stone floor, Prussia had for the first time tasted another man's arousal. He'd licked away the stain from the clothes; he'd opened his mouth to swallow his master's length, and done his best to pleasure him. To please at least here if he could not manage it on the battlefield.

"But that's horrible!" Germany finally said, feeling a dark anger threatening to explode out of him. He clutched Prussia closer, fiercely possessive. "You were just a child!" 

Prussia's tears had dried during the telling, but when Germany held him and his bound cock pressed even more against the others firm stomach, even frantic blinking couldn't quite keep back the fresh tears. 

"Don't you see," he groaned in Germany's ear, "I fucking liked it. I just- Fuck! Liked it. It was, it gave me something I thought I'd lost."

"But still! He shouldn't have!"

A broken laugh and Prussia leaned his face against Germany's, so that the tears stained his cheeks too. "No," he whispered. "That part wasn't what hurt; that came after." 

After. When the Grand Master of the Teutonic Order slapped the incarnation of his troops, cursed him and called him a devil sent to tempt them. When he had ordered prayer and fast to drive the sin from his spirit, before he further tempted a man of the cloth. When he had told him that he was _ashamed_ for believing in his lies. 

"Then, it hurt."

"No," Germany whispered, completely horrified. For a nation to hear that? From their boss? To be denied, to be renounced - if enough believed it, it could mean the end of them!

"But he never told anyone else, at least," Prussia whispered. "Not that time, not later." 

Because it had continued. And every time, every damned time, the young nation hoped that he would finally manage to get it right.

When praying for forgiveness, when begging God to purge the sin from him, he would hope that the beatings would finally disgust him. Begged for strength to push his master away and renounce the temptations of the flesh once and for all. 

But whenever he held a sword, whenever he saw his master's eyes darken with desire and knew that they would soon meet at a silent church or an abandoned storage room, anywhere they would not be disturbed, then he could only hope that this time, his master would find pleasure in him. See that these desires were not a weakness, nor a sin.

"It never happened," Prussia said, face twisted in something that could never be called a smile. "I tried and tried to please him, but he was–" he hesitated, but whatever he could see in Germany's eyes gave him strength to continue. "He was one of the few who despised me for my needs." A cracked laugh escaped him. "I think it was only him and, and A..." 

"Austria," Germany finished when it became clear that Prussia could not speak that name. He was not even guessing anymore. When he saw the lashes flutter close over fresh tears, he knew he had been right.

Finally, Germany understood why the two nations seemed unable to leave each other alone, yet harboured such intense mutual loathing for each other. The picture was so clear, that he marvelled at how he had never seen it before.

"But he at least hated himself as much as he disliked me. More, I think." Prussia shook his head, old bitterness returning. "Just can't accept how much he loves to _hurt_ someone, fucking sissy."

"You shouldn't– "

"Be upset? Sad? Fuck that." Prussia turned, spit over his shoulder, as if trying to free himself from his memories. "See, this is why I don't wanna talk about this crap," he said in a voice so painfully broken that it tortured Germany to hear him speak. "Ruins the mood fucking completely." 

He smiled at Germany. Fake, this smile. Pieced together of all the little lies Prussia told himself, of every victory, real or imagined that he used to prop himself up. 

It made Germany long to wipe it away, but he was beginning to realize it wouldn't be quite that easy. Perhaps, he thought, he could remove each hurtful piece instead, until Prussia had no splinters of fake smiles left and he had to be either truly glad or face his own sorrow. 

"I don't know what to do," Germany admitted, hoping that if at least he gave truth, Prussia would pay with the same coin in return.

"Except that I wish I could go back, unmake it all and kill the monster who, no, listen to me! To use a child like that? Even if it is one that has lived a hundred years!" He shuddered with revulsion. "Nothing you say will convince me that it's not wrong."

"I almost... expected you to agree with him."

"No." Just a soft breath against his brother's hair, an equally soft touch against his cheek making sure the purple eyes were looking at him, here and now, and not seeing any phantoms from the past. " _Never_ that. Even before I remembered, or before we begun this, I wouldn't have. Prussia, you... you gave me strength, pulled me together. Showed me what it meant to be proud." 

He kissed him gently, just softly touching their lips together, and squeezed the bound hands encouragingly. "Do you remember that? You always told me to be proud, Brother, even when you would yell and punish, you never made me feel ashamed of myself."

It took him a moment to recognize the strange sounds emanating from Prussia as laughter. Low, an almost sweet sound, and much more harmonious than his usual cackle.

"West, you idiot!" he finally said, the laughter growing but still staying so sweetly pure that Germany almost felt as if he would begin to weep soon. "What the hell do you have to be ashamed of? You're _my little brother_ and you... Oh man, you grew into everything I dreamt of. And then some." 

The eyes that gazed at Germany's were a deep purple-red now, their colour old wine in the night. His hair was white, with only a touch of silver-sand in it, and the smiling face was all his brother - except that there was something new, something gentle, that Germany could only recall from his earliest childhood. At long last, the restless pain seemed to have settled in Prussia. Not gone away, but been laid to rest. 

"Let me. No, us, let us take these away too," Germany begged, his hand finding the scars above the empty heart. 

For another unreal moment they were still, frozen on the edge of a future where their old familiar roles would be so very readjusted and changed. It was frightening to Germany, but thrilling too. He realized that whatever happened, he wanted to keep fighting his brother, with words and bodies and a thousand little touches. 

Prussia leaned close, spoke so near against his lips that each word led to the lightest of kisses. "Will you do one thing for me, then?"

"What?"

"Hold me," he said, letting his head fall back in an unmistakable plea, revealing the ring of dark bruises. "Hold me until I can't breathe, can't think or remember."

"Forgetting isn't the way," he cautioned. "Look where it got me."

No, Prussia shook his head, still not lifting it completely. "Not that. I mean, forgetting everything except me. And you." He thrust his hips against Germany, shivering as a hand closed on the over-sensitized flesh. "I just want to be here, now."

"Nothing but the now," Germany agreed and pulled him down on the bed, so Prussia rested on him for a moment. Strong back, firm buttocks, such a sensitive opening still slick with lube and Germany's release. He found the cord, followed it and turned the vibrator to max again.

"It hurts," Prussia gasped against him, squirming futilely.

"Yes."

When Germany threw him further up on the bed Prussia spread his legs eagerly, welcoming Germany's weight on top of his body. There was no fight left in him now, only a punishing desire, a thirst Germany knew he alone could quench. 

Kisses first, for he wanted to give Prussia uncountable kisses; one for every year he had not received any and then ten thousand more. Wanted to taste his lips, until he had wiped away memories of all the false masters, all those who had dared use him without caring what the soul inside the nation needed.

But his brother wouldn't be himself if softness was all he required. And so, Germany stood up on his knees and his fingers traveled downwards to stroke Prussia's cock in a gentle mockery of affection. So swollen with blood now that when Germany moistened two fingers in his mouth and then stroked the head, the whimpers that Prussia let out were more desperation than pleasure. 

Slowly, so as not to set him off too early, Germany began to unwind the bindings on his cock. Prussia bucked beneath him, frantically gasping, as if he could draw in self-control along with the air.

"Whom do you serve?" Germany asked when he had finished freeing Prussia, and only sheer willpower held his suffering brother from coming. He did not stop stroking and touching while he spoke. Hidden deep inside of Prussia, he could hear the rising and falling whine of the vibrator.

"Whom will you fight for?" he continued, taking a few lazy moments to bring himself to hardness again, knowing that Prussia's stare was riveted to him, desperate and pleading.

He lay down, supporting himself on one elbow and ground himself, tortuously slow, against Prussia.

A sharp whine was escaping him now; a sound Prussia seemed unaware of causing. Just as he did not seem aware of how his legs lifted to wrap around Germany, pulling him closer until they were tight against each other.

Because Prussia's gaze had not left Germany's face even once since the younger nation laid down on him, so depriving him of the tantalizing sight of his cock, he didn't see the slap come. 

Germany hit him hard; hit him with all the force in his arm, and Prussia's head snapped to the side.

"Whom will you fight?" Germany growled, grabbing his brother's hair and pulling him in position for another slap. 

Something seemed to shake Prussia, a wave rushing through him that began where his legs clenched ever harder around Germany, until the grip was almost painful. It continued through his trembling body until it escaped as a wild, angry cry. 

The next hit was delivered with a closed fist and Prussia screamed beneath him in absolute fury and need. He threw his head from side to side, howling wordlessly, screaming and screaming until Germany hit again and fresh blood burst from his nose. 

"FIGHT ME!" Germany roared, tugging at Prussia's hair, feeling sharp teeth split the skin on his knuckles. 

"I hate you!" Prussia howled in reply, finally finding the words. Blood and tears were streaming down his face and Germany had never seen him look more beautiful. He hit him once more, hearing that gratifying crack that meant he'd broken something and he laughed until he too was crying. Kissed his brother, felt him kiss and bite back so that their blood mingled between their lips. Now, finally, he could bring a hand up and slowly, so exquisitely slowly, begin to squeeze. 

The gurgle that came from Prussia was a song in his ears and he began moving his hips, rubbing against him so that they rocked together, flesh stroking flesh. And he was kissing that swollen mouth while Prussia choked beneath him, using him mercilessly until his desperate movements had used up every last gulp of air.

Now Germany tore the necklace from his throat, turned the little cross so he could drive one of the sharp arms into Prussia's chest. To finally open up the one wound that should be there and wasn't, the twin to Germany's own – the split in their hearts and land, which made them two halves of one whole.

There was nothing left for his brother to scream with, and while he deepened the cut, Germany's other hand tightened mercilessly. So Prussia came in silence, body contorting with pleasure and eyes rolling back in his head. 

Then, as he felt the spreading of warmth against his own skin, Germany knew he'd finally won. With a pleased sigh, he let go, and rode out his own gently sated release. 

This time, Germany did collapse in an exhausted heap on top off Prussia, unable to move for several heartbeats. Beneath him, Prussia lay equally knocked out, only his rasping breath betraying that he was still alive.

Heartbeats... 

Germany frowned fuzzily. As he slowly woke from of his post-orgasm bliss, he had a nagging feeling that something sounded off. Or not, he realized as he lifted his head, still feeling too damn tired to manage more. Something _felt_ off, but it sounded strangely... all right.

With a growing look of wonder and amazed understanding, Germany pressed a hand between them, to feel his own chest. There, that was what he missed - the familiar double-beat of his heart, the pulse of life that ran through him so steadily he had not even noticed it until it changed. It had not gone silent, but the rhythm, how could it change, where was– 

"Ah!" Trembling from the extortion, Germany pushed himself up and put a hand on Prussia's chest, hardly even noticing that the old welts of Königsberg had sunk into his body, leaving nothing but the thinnest white lines. Memories of scars. 

Neither did he notice that the wound he had so recently caused had also healed over, so that there were not even scabs left. Instead, he focused on what he felt beneath his sweaty palms.

One raised scar and half a heartbeat. 

It was strong, healthy and, Germany felt with a growing smile, he could hear it as well as if it had been his own heart that determinedly pumped fresh oxygen to a body just deprived.

"It worked," he whispered. "Brother, it worked!"

Prussia did not answer, He lay limp as a rag and Germany winced as he saw the ruin of his face, the fresh finger-shaped marks blossoming high on his throat. He'd really need to find a safer way to do this, he thought guiltily, and touched the split in Prussia's lip, feeling fresh blood well up. 

He should clean him up too, he thought, and check that there were no lingering ill-effects of the bondage and... 

And it was, Germany realized, just a bit too much right now. Even to reach down and remove the still buzzing little bullet from Prussia - who barely stirred when Germany reached inside him with two fingers to gently grasp it - was a chore.

"I prom'se," he murmured and pulled Prussia's freed arms around him, "I'll do it much better next time."

Of course there was no answer, but when he felt Prussia's head drop forward so that the sticky chin rested against his own, he swore he could feel a smile crease it. Whether that was true or not, it made him hold Prussia just a little bit tighter. 

Not even the knowledge that they'd wake up covered in sticky, cold blood and several other body fluids could stand against his weariness after that. Soon Germany followed his brother into the land of dreams, no longer fearing that their dreams and nightmares would become mixed up. Perhaps he'd never have to worry again, he thought fuzzily, for as long as they struggled on, they could adjust the balance to anything the world threw at them. Then Germany, too, slept.

Now there were two bodies in the room, two nations sharing the same house and between them, one strong heartbeat.


	4. Epilogue - When We Aren't Pretending

When Italy came careening wildly into the house, crying "HUUUUUUG!" Prussia began to wonder if there wasn't something to Germany's worries about lack of oxygen causing brain damage. 

He knew for a fact that his brother left to visit Italy yesterday (why, he'd shoved the dithering fool out the door himself!) so either this was Italy Romano – in which case Prussia had gone mad and needed to end his own suffering before he began to think he was Napoleon – or West had actually been so bloody stupid that he'd let the tasty little morsel get away. Which meant the only fair thing was for Prussia to end _his_ suffering. Permanently.

"Uh, I thought West was with y– "

That was when Italy smacked into him and Prussia, who was very much not used to wild tackle-hugs, stumbled over the carpet. They both crashed to the floor, causing Italy's forehead to impact with his nose. 

His _nose_ , which was still broken courtesy of his over-enthusiastic, depraved and very much no-longer-a-virgin little brother.

So Prussia screamed and tried to protect his poor abused face. That in turn made Italy flail in panic and while they were both still screaming at each other, Germany walked into the house, calmly picked Italy up by his shirt and deposited him on the floor.

"I told you to take it easy," he grumbled, glowering at Italy who rattled of a rapid excuse in Italian. "And as for you..." 

Respectful little brothers, Prussia thought, really shouldn't manage so badly to hide their smirk when looking at their elders.

"Don't bother," he growled, but still accepted Germany's hand up.

"He wanted to speak to you," Germany said with a nod towards Italy. "Try not to tear the place down, would you?"

"Ve, Germany, Germany, where are you going?" Italy asked, immediately all a-flutter. 

Well, well... Prussia noted with interest that when the little nation attached himself to Germany's waist, his hands slipped just a bit lower than before. Of even more interest was that Germany, instead of furiously blushing and running for the hills, allowed this for a few moments. Unfortunately, he then seemed to remember that they weren't alone, and began blushing, quickly removing Italy's hand and – Whohoo! He _kissed_ him, in public! Only a peck on the lips and the public consisted of one, but still! They'd finally fucking done it; hallelujah, ring the bells, etcetera, miracles could still occur!

"I'm going to make some coffee," Germany muttered, his hand touching his own lips as if he couldn't quite believe what they'd just done. "Behave!" 

"I knew that as soon as someone made a man out of you, you'd have no problems getting laid, West!" Prussia called after him and cackled triumphantly when Germany's ears glowed crimson. Oh, he was such a nice and generous older brother, he even impressed himself.

"Um, sorry that I hurt you, Prussia," Italy said, looking adorably worried.

"What? Oh, these! Never mind." Prussia waved his concern off, only belatedly realizing that Italy probably couldn't see all the other little ouchy places on him. 

After three days, Prussia looked far worse than he felt. To spare his brother another ulcer, he'd bundled himself up as much as possible, so that no postman or passing neighbour would see. Besides, it might traumatise the puppies and chickens. 

While his nose and assorted other areas still smarted, it wasn't that bad. In fact, Prussia rather fancied the way that every movement reminded him in a new way of what they'd been doing so pleasurably. It also made West spoil him quite nicely, and hello, who'd be stupid enough to complain about that?

Ruffling his hair, grinning at how cutely Italy struggled against his hand, Prussia couldn't help but congratulate himself on finally kicking Germany's ass hard enough to make him confess to the other nation. 

"So, whaddya want to talk to me about, then? I thought you and West would be going at it like wild monkeys for at least a week." He glanced at the door then pitched his voice to carry in a fine stage-whisper. "Don't tell me you wore him out, already!" 

"I heard that!" Germany called from the kitchen.

"Stop snooping, start cooking!" Prussia yelled back, and with a smirk gestured Italy along to his study. Might as well get some use out of it. It wasn't as if he ever worked in there.

Italy followed happily enough. He brightened even more when he saw the birdcage and its residents on the desk. "Ohh, hi birdies!" He went over and wiggled his fingers through the bars, exclaiming in delight when one of them jumped up on his finger. 

"You've changed this room, Prussia, haven't you?" he asked, looking around.

Prussia nodded and sat on the desk, smartly saluting his avian troops. They chirped back cutely and still didn't seem inclined to salute back, undisciplined (but adorable) little buggers that they were. He'd need more than one chair in here, he mused, especially if he was going to start using the place regularly.

"Eh, kinda had to remodel a bit. All my stuff couldn't fit into our bedroom, not even when it grew." 

Truth to be told, it had been kind of nice to put his things up on proper shelves. With Germany gone, Prussia had spent the entire previous day sorting out treasure from trash. He'd found many dear old mementoes that had languished forgotten on his floor for years. Annoying how he couldn't quite recall why he'd never gotten around to do this before – even more annoying that old excuse that he must have been busy with something more awesome rang a little hollow these days. 

Shaking off his mopey and decidedly un-awesome thoughts, Prussia gestured at the room. He was really proud of how cool all his weapons looked when polished. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, a lot! You have a lovely colour on the wall in here," Italy said, looking at the room with an artist’s eye. "Vibrant but still soothing. And it matches the carpet great!"

"West insisted we change the wallpaper and shit a while ago," Prussia admitted.  
And boy, had he not felt like taking part in his brother's little 'physical therapy' round, before his 'cure'. All in all, he did end up with a nice room in the end. The only downside Prussia could see was that this might make West believe that involving him in more home-improvement efforts was a good idea. He'd have to make sure to disillusion him on that point, he reminded himself, preferably before spring and gardening season rolled around again.

Anyway, now the room was a beautiful deep green, instead of the bland cream-colour he'd avoided improving for decades. He had even put up a collection of old flags on the empty wall, their colours looking splendid indeed against the verdant backdrop.

Italy nodded and waved goodbye to the birds. "It's pretty, but it still feels very much like Prussia!"

"Thanks. So, uhm, what did you want before?"

Italy looked down at his clasped hands then, drawing a deep breath, straightened up in the neatest attempt at standing at attention Prussia had ever seen from him. 

Oh shit, this could be bad. He felt his grin waver a little. Caught already?

While he hadn't exactly forbidden West from talking about what they'd done, he really thought even a macho-brain such as him would have the sense _not_ to tell his new lover that he came straight from shacking up with his big brother too.

Especially not when Germany had so adamantly reminded him not to tell France, Spain, France, Austria (as if he would!), France, Hungary and especially not France!

"Prussia!" Italy said, managing an almost military tone even, oh dear oh dear. "I, Italy Veneziano, northern half of the Italian Republic, want to extend to you my biggest thank you!" And he bowed, arms at his side and freaky hair-doink swaying with the speed of his movement.

"O-kay..."

"Really, Prussia," the other nation said when he straightened. "Thank you so much."

"What for?" Prussia asked, completely bewildered now.

"The Holy Roman Empire."

"Oh no. No, no, no!" He shook his head, leaping off the desk in agitation. "You and West have been dancing around each other since, what, the First World War? You are not allowed to mix him up with a brat you knew hundreds of years ago and think that's why you're fucking each other!"  
He frowned, suddenly worried that somehow, the macho-idiot had managed to foul things up anyway. Would he never be allowed to spend some time without worrying about his stupid brother?

"Hang on, you have done it, right? I mean, actual fucking, not a bloody football game or something. West seemed a bit more relaxed out there, but he can be so weird sometimes."

Fighting down a blush, Italy nodded. "Um, yes. Germany and I, we, um..." He giggled suddenly and bent forward to whisper hurriedly to Prussia. "We did it! Four times! Next time he promised we can do it in a gondola, and I wanted to this morning already, but Germany looked kinda scared then or tired, I don't know really, but oh!" He giggled and almost clapped his hands in excitement. "Oh, oh, I already got Germany to try it with oli-"

"Okaaaay, thank you! That's more than enough." Hearing about your little brother's sex life, Prussia was surprised to discover, was much more disturbing than being involved in it. He wasn't quite sure why, probably had to do with hormones. Everything that couldn't be explained by quantum (How come you're at the pub tonight when you promised to cut the lawn? Prolly quanthum, Wescht... 'ave a beer!) could usually be blamed on hormones. Such as his very, _very_ short fling with Russia, and dear God, he hoped West never got that one out of him!

Besides, according to Spain who was probably the world's leading expert until his brother caught up with him, Italians had a wicked kink for food and kitchen sex. And while Prussia was happy to contemplate West's ass from many directions, imagining it on the table where he ate dinner was not quite his deal. And really, olives? Feh, and here they called him kinky!

Somehow, Prussia managed to grab his scattered thoughts and return his attention to Italy. Who had by now wandered over to admire his flags, which at least showed that the kid had taste.

"Seriously, Italy," he said, tapping the shorter nation on the shoulder to bring him back to the issue at hand. "You're not mixing him up with the Holy Roman Empire or some shit now, are you?"

"No." Italy smiled, with that special warmth that Prussia had always envied him, and this time his hug was restrained and gentle.

"I know Germany," he said. "I know he's strong and handsome and brave. Even if he didn't really dare tell me he liked me until now, I've seen it in how he acts. And I knew because when he saved me or when he was yelling, especially after he stopped yelling at me and began yelling for me, I could always hear what he really meant. Although if I run away he still yells at me with the different kind of yelling."

"Uhm, Italy? Getting a bit lost here." 

Italy drew back, surprising Prussia with the sombreness of his face. "Sorry; but that's Germany and I know him. See, that's how they're different," he said, a smile peeking out. "But the Holy Roman Empire was always weak. Even if I didn't realize how bad it was until much later... I did love him too, Prussia. I think he loved me too, even if we never really got to know each other. Not like I know Germany."

This time when he was hugged, Prussia found it in himself to hug back. Awkwardly, perhaps, but still something he had to try.

"I always thought he died alone," Italy whispered against his shoulder. "I was so horribly sad that I never helped him or say a proper good bye at least! But when I couldn't be there, I know now that he had his big brother with him. And Germany also has his big brother, who helped him grow up much stronger. And now I have Germany and I know that the Holy Roman Empire is in a way also there, even if Germany is much more than him, and I think he'd be happy for me, I really do. And it all makes me so, so happy. So that's why I want to thank you, Prussia."

"Uh. Yeah, sure." Prussia scratched the back of his neck, feeling a certain secret grow larger and more awkward by the second. "Look, Italy, there's maybe a little something that West and I need to tell you..."

"Ve~?"

Germany opened the door and peeked inside the room, clearing his throat to get their attention. "The coffee's done," he announced when they turned to look at him. "Why are you molesting Italy, Brother? Stop that. Also, we have fresh cinnamon rolls"

"Fuck off, West, we're having a moment here."

"Oh! Germany, Germany, do you have any biscotti left?" Italy asked.

Germany nodded. "Yes. As well as some chocolate cake from yesterday. Are you coming?"

Prussia followed them, chewing his lip thoughtfully. Italy was positively radiant when he clung to Germany and prattled on about something only his quirky Italian brain could grasp. And West... 

Ah, his little brother walked with a new spring to his step, an arm sneaking around Italy's shoulder and then staying there, naturally as that. Prussia had rarely seen him so peaceful as when he could pour coffee for them all, serve cake after cake and softly wipe the crumbs off Italy's lips. It was almost comical, how he forgot to eat his own share and sat stirring the coffee until it grew cold while chewing now and then on half a cinnamon roll.

Maybe, Prussia reflected, he should try and learn from his mistakes some time. It wasn't as if Germany had the best track record in being useful to him...

When he tried to slip away, though, a strong hand grasped his wrist. He was held gently enough, but still with a firmness that indicated he was not to leave any time soon.

"West?"

"You should finish that," Germany replied. He gestured to the uneaten biscotti on Prussia's plate. "Isn't it you who always tells me not to waste food?" 

He snatched the biscotti from the plate, wrenching his hand free at the same time. "Yeah. Sure."

"Oh!" Italy looked up from stuffing his face, even batting away Germany when he immediately tried to wipe him clean. "What did Prussia want to tell me?"

"Dunno." Prussia glared at West, hating that he lo– wanted to fuck him too much to just cut his losses and scram. " _Do_ we want to tell Italy something?"

Still stirring his cold coffee, Germany pondered the question for a while, the frown on his forehead deepening. "Perhaps later tonight?" He looked up at them, then nodded, decision made. "We need to walk the dogs now. I am also certain that nobody has watered the plants since yesterday, despite the fact that it is his turn. Correct?"

Prussia rolled his eyes, not bothering to come up with a good excuse. As he agreed to go over the upper floor with the watering can later, he silently wondered why West ever fancied that his sadistic-dom tendencies were even close to being a secret from the world. Written on his bloody forehead, right over that damned worried crease.

And later tonight? Later was good; it was one of Prussia's favourite words. Right now it came somewhere after awesome and Fritz, he decided. Might just knock "alone" down from the third place.

The words continued to echo in Prussia, in pace with his odd new heartbeat. Later. Tonight. He kept hearing them while Germany poured him another cup and pressured him to at least taste the cakes properly, after which it took no time at all for the remaining ones to disappear. 

Strange, how he had forgotten to be hungry while Germany was gone from the house. Strange, how the entire day seemed brighter now that there were three of them to walk the dogs instead of just Prussia struggling with the lines in the early morning. Even when evening fell, the world seemed filled with an invisible light and Prussia had to remind himself that everything was likely to come crashing down soon. But not yet, there was still a later for him to cling to.

Strangest of all? It was how familiar the smallest things felt, even when he knew the world had turned upside down three days ago.

Take such a thing as gloating at West when they watched football on the telly. Spain and France were duking it out on the field tonight, and with plenty of German beer and Italian snacks, the three of them gathered in the sofa. 

In no time at all Prussia forgot to be self-conscious about the ring-shaped bruises around his wrists (it helped that an alternate spelling of Italy could have been 'oblivious') and he hardly even jumped when West brushed a surprisingly gentle hand against his cheek during the commercial break. 

Fuck, he wondered, when did we manage to get so damn comfortable around each other? But then the game started up again, and Prussia became too absorbed to reflect further on the situation or worry about the future.

Germany rooted for France claiming that his victory would give their own team a much better chance in the tournament. As if that kind of lameass thinking should ever be allowed to influence a game of football! So, of course Prussia had to yell enthusiastic encouragements to Spain. Anyway, his players had much more _style_! Meanwhile, Italy cheered for almost every move. Then he almost fell off the sofa in excitement when they spotted his brother's curl behind the goal.

Italy Romano looked deeply unhappy to be there. But he bit his knuckles nervously during a French penalty and pumped his fist when the Spaniards successfully defended themselves, showing unmistakeable enthusiasm before the camera panned away. The three nations glanced at each other before breaking into helpless laughter.

"Di– did you see his face?" Germany gasped. 

"When he realized they must've been filming straight at him? _Yes!_ " Prussia laughed.

"I have to call Spain and say congratulations!" Italy said.

"He hasn't won yet."

"Nooo, but if Romano is there then he won't care if he wins or not! He'll be so happy anyway."

Prussia pursed his lips. "Oh, I think old Spain will be very, very happy if he wins. A little bird told me once that your brother is, heh, quite the little gambler."

Italy quirked an eyebrow at him, confused, and Germany hurried to direct their attentions back to the game. 

It wasn't until several hours later when Italy was nodding off against Germany's shoulder and Prussia had begun swallowing yawn after yawn, that he began to hear the drum of those words again. Later tonight. Later tonight. 

Teeth were brushed, sleepwear put on (rather unwillingly, in Italy's case), pets laid to rest and suddenly, later tonight had become right now. 

"So," Prussia said. "How are we doing this, huh?" He crossed his arms and burrowed deeper into West's bathrobe (fair loot, Prussia considered, since he'd won the race to be first to the bathroom). 

"Come over here?" Germany suggested and sat on the edge of the bed.

Feeling the butterflies in his stomach turn into angry vampire bats, Prussia walked closer and re-crossed his arms. Stubbornly, he kept staring straight ahead, the line of his vision just above West's head. 

Italy already lay on his stomach, busy fluffing the pillows when Germany poked him to get his attention.

"Ahem. Italy."

"Ve?"

Germany smiled, or at least bared his teeth, and cracked his knuckles. "Ehm, yes. You know how I said we had, somehow, solved Prussia's... little problem?"

Italy nodded, an immediate joyful smile blossoming on his face. "Yes! That's wonderful! It makes me so happy for Germany and Prussia!"

"Well, uhm, how should I put this," Germany threw Prussia a panicked glance, but he could only shrug. This was his brother's lover and as such, even Prussia realised it was up to him to explain things. Although, come to think of it, it may not have been entirely wrong to do the explanation before they jumped into bed. Or the tub of olive oil for that matter. 

"Actually, maybe I- I'll just show you!" 

West's hands slowly moved closer to his face. Ordinarily, Prussia would have been happy to allow him to remove the scarf that he'd worn almost constantly for three days. What with the state of his neck and the unfortunate ways rumours had a way of growing, he had agreed to it quite gracefully; it would be best if nobody saw his bruises and got the wrong idea. Especially since some-bloody-one already got half the world thinking that Prussia had one foot in the grave and they didn't want anyone to start thinking of a German civil war. God knew what the idiots could come up with, given the barest excuse. 

In Prussia's opinon, the problem was peace; he'd always had something to blame the bruises on before! Just one of the many downsides to the whole concept, if you asked him.

One of West's hands brushed his face, breaking his chain of thoughts. Startled, Prussia realized that they were trembling and felt far too cool. When he met his brother's gaze, he realised that the other man was almost ashen in the face.

Ah. He sighed mentally. Never allowed to worry a bit about himself, that's how it was. First his troops, then his king, then his bloody brother; too fucking awesomely unselfish, that he was.

"It's like this," Prussia stated, taking a step back and shrugging out of the bathrobe in one smooth movement. The scarf remained in West's hand like a little flag. White, even, how fitting.

Prussia twirled around once, arms spread, to really let Italy see everything. In only his boxers, with the sideboard's light turned in his direction, the rainbow of bruises and rope burns stood out starkly against his pale skin. His throat, he knew, looked as if someone had tried to wring it off, his arms were striped from the ropes and four deep scratches went down the side of his stomach, continuing down into his boxers from when his brother had gotten the idea to jump him in the shower. Prussia considered it a blatantly unfair accusation that he had been groping West constantly during breakfast.

Italy's mouth fell open in shock. Slowly, clearly troubled, Germany rose to stand between them. Prussia thought for a moment, while his heart stood still and all the world waited, that he would try and hide him after all. Push him away, put him somewhere dark and secret where he would fade again, forgotten and alone. 

Then West's arm went around _his_ shoulder.

Even though his voice trembled and his entire being stank of fear, Germany stood by his brother, though he held out his hand to Italy while he pleaded with him to understand and accept. 

But he did not take the easy way, did not make the choice Prussia had been dreading ever since he saw how fucking happy the two acted together.

"I did this," Germany said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I. To Prussia." He floundered, obviously not knowing how to explain what had happened. "But, but I'd never, ever do it to you!"

Even as tense as he was, Prussia felt like smacking West for that little gem. Really, had he been overestimating his ability to plan ahead _that_ much these three hundred something years? No wonder they kept losing wars, with such a tactical genius at the helm.

To his complete lack of surprise, Italy seemed utterly bewildered, his confused gaze flickering between the bruises and Germany's face.

"I wanted him to," Prussia explained before West managed to scare the poor guy away for good. "And I still want it, a lot. It makes me... feel good." Something of an understatement. 

And damn his rotten soul to hell, but he still felt the need. Even as Italy watched their shared mortification with obvious fear on his face, Prussia craved his brother's mastery with all his being, as he had wanted a master only once before.

"Does hurting Prussia, make both make Prussia and Germany happy?" Italy finally asked, his voice very small.

"More than happy, Italy. I can't explain it, but it makes me whole." 

West, still standing beside him, nodded frantically. 

"It's part of what saved me," Prussia admitted with a wince.

"But doesn't it _hurt_?"

"The hurt is what makes him happy, and me too. I become happy. When I see him hurt, when I know I've hurt him in this way," Germany whispered. 

"It's about power, Italy, and, and– Shit, I don't know. About abandoning myself," Prussia said, trying to put words to something he'd always avoided explaining before. "It's like when something is so good that it almost hurts, only this is, um."

"So much hurt that it becomes good. It makes all the other things that hurt; time and loneliness and bad memories become less important, even if they're still there," Germany filled in and Prussia had to grab his hand and squeeze tight. 

"You knew I liked these things," Germany said, not quite begging, but a bit too close for Prussia's comfort. "I still like them. And I know you asked and I said that it's not something I want to do with you, which is still really true! I promise, I only like to hurt someone, if they like being hurt by me."

"Ooohh and Prussia does?" Italy bit his finger, looking hesitant, and they both nodded. 

"It's the best fucking thing to happen to me in a century," Prussia said. This time, Germany squeezed his hand.

Maybe, Prussia thought, _maybe_. He was Italy, right? It wasn't impossible? He managed to love even his hopeless tomato-freak of a brother and that old lecher France.  
Prussia hadn't prayed for his survival, knowing that all gods had abandoned him long ago but when he felt West tremble beside him and knew what risk his little brother had taken for him – for them – he almost wanted to cross himself one last time.

"But Germany won't yell at me and make me run all day to fight England? Even if he likes hitting people?" Italy asked. "And he'll only hit Prussia and won't hit me because I'm too weak and scared?" 

Something in Prussia unclenched slowly. Maybe, praise the Lord, maybe it could work out! 

"I won't," Germany promised. "Never again!"

Then, Italy yawned and scooted backwards on the bed and somehow, Prussia knew it was going to be all right. Perhaps not always easy, no, nothing was likely to be easy for them. But it might be all right. 

"Hm, you know what?" Italy was frowning, but his dimples were deepening and it felt as if Prussia could breath again at that sight. 

Italy waved a finger at them. "I think it's really unfair that Germany gets to yell at people _and_ hit them _and_ get hugs and pasta from me when I'm not even allowed to take my pants off! When we sleep," he added when he noticed the tic developing beneath Germany's eye. 

Now it was Prussia who found himself shaking, but in relief. How glad he was, that West was bound to be too embarrassed to confess tonight's events to anyone. Hopefully, Italy too was suitable distracted by his new boyfriend's reluctant agreement that he was, but only tonight until further negotiations, allowed to take off his underwear too. And, _perhaps_ they could discuss Germany's underwear and potential lack thereof. Tomorrow!

Because it was such a release to laugh that he couldn't be arsed to keep up any barriers right now. Italy was being silly, his brother an awkward idiot (as usual) and it was too perfect, this moment. 

The joy bubbling up through him swept away the last worries and he practically fell into bed, desperately trying to hide his laughter against a pillow. 

West was having none of that, shaking him and sternly asking if he was having a hysterical attack, or had he lost it completely? Italy too reached for him, a careful hand that Prussia grabbed and clung to as if it was a life-line (it was, oh God, he'd never know how his smile had saved Prussia from drowning in nothingness). Though Prussia snorted, gasping for air to explain, the elation left him no room for words. He could only shake his head and laugh until he thought he might shatter from the force of it.

Then somehow, bless whatever braincells hadn't been crowded out by muscle, West somehow got it. He pulled him closer, held Prussia firmly and allowed him to hide his face and laugh against his skin. Even if West kept grumbling under his breath, he held him there and listened to his laugh, pulling a now chortling Italy close as well. And for the first time in two-hundred-and-twenty-some years Prussia laughed himself into a real crying fit, wild tears spilling down his cheek while the raucous cackle went on and on. And he was happy, so splendidly happy.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on my LJ with the title "Close your eyes and kiss me (pretending we are real)". Now slightly extended and with actual beta editing!
> 
> Please note that, since this was originally written in 2010 (goodness me), there are things that don't match up with current Hetalia canon (such as the make-up of the German family). Consider it an AU.
> 
> Feedback appreciated!


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